


As Innocent As A Lamia

by Strangely-Magical-Encounters (Danaknowsitall)



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and stuff, Halloween, Implied Sexual Content, Instant attraction cause that’s how I like ‘em, Kissing in the Rain, Mutual Pining, NSFW, Roland swoops in to ruin everything, Sexual Frustration, Some bad language, Vampire AU, Witches, butterfly bog, faefolk, magic in the air, of course cause he’s the WORST, shape-shifters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danaknowsitall/pseuds/Strangely-Magical-Encounters
Summary: Bog lives a sort-of peaceful life in his town, until a family of vampires move in.What would he do, then?
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic), Dawn/Sunny (Strange Magic)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 30





	1. Housewarming planned

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Endorathewitch, Magicalstranger13 and Shivaeskye, all of which have stories where Marianne is a vampire and it all kinda swirled around and made a whole load of mess in my head to create this.

“Marianne, Dawn, I expect you both to be on your best behaviour during this visit.” The two sisters heard their father's voice trail through from the kitchen.

Sitting on the chesterfield couch in the lounge, Marianne kept her eyes on her book—sci-fi meets historical fiction about time travellers, set in a time she fondly remembered as bittersweet. Well written, intricate and loaded with enough historical and personal drama that it was easy to forgo the romantic parts. Marianne didn’t read Romance.

“Yes, Dad,” she replied distractedly, her cheek resting on her fist, her attention on the book. They had hosted the conclave enough times that she knew exactly what she would have to do. Her lines, her gestures—it was all scripted and practiced.

"Daddy, since _you're_ having guests… and it's our first Halloween here…" At her improvised post on the dining table, Dawn looked up from her projects. Spread across half of the long table Dawn had yards of fabrics, books and patterns out of flimsy paper, metal wires and spray bottles. The owner of the mess herself sat at the head of the table, like the eye of the storm, with her sewing machine. It was an exhaustive set-up, which she managed solely by the virtue of big, blue, puppy eyes she aimed at their father whenever he complained about the mess. "Can't we throw a tiny housewarming party?"

"A party?" Dagda stepped through the kitchen's archway till he came to a stop by the dining table, resting a hand on a chair. His face was full of apprehensive suspicion, and he narrowed his eyes.

Marianne looked up from her book, marking the page with a finger, and got up to blur her way to the dining room's door. This would be fun to watch, and she tried not to smile at the cajoling tone her sister took.

“Yes, a party. You know the Elders enjoy a good soiree,” Dawn rose to her feet, her pale blue dress gliding over the polished hardwood as she stepped closer to their father. Her hands clasped behind her back, Dawn leaned forward, catching Dagda's green eyes with hers. “We should have it in their and your honour. It’ll be a blue moon too!” 

Humming, Dagda’s beard twitched as he thought over Dawn’s suggestion. His eyes looked over his youngest daughter’s costume-making station on the table, and ever the expert of knowing which buttons to press, the perky blonde knew exactly what to say to send him over the edge. 

“You know how well I can plan a party.” Taking another step, Dawn stood before their father, and laid a hand over his on the back of the chair. She tucked her chin in and lifted her eyes to look at him from under her lashes. “I could make the mansion look amazing.”

“Alright. Fine! You know what to do.” He threw his hands up in the air and started pacing up and down the room in disquiet. “I want the rooms upstairs locked—no one is to sneak off around the house. You may serve alcohol but with a bartender for portion control. I want no drunks around to embarrass us.” Dagda came to a stop in front of Dawn, who had been eagerly biting her lower lip, pointed canines showing adorably. “And Dawn, this is on your neck. If anything goes wrong, I’ll ban you from any parties for twenty years,” he finished sternly. 

By the time their father reached her, the younger sister had been nodding her head for a whole ten seconds. Marianne thought she must have got dizzy, but no. As always, Dawn was a force of nature. 

Throwing her thin arms around the stockier man, Dawn squealed happily. “Thank you, Daddy! I promise I won’t let you down!”

Huffing, Dagda hugged his daughter back. 

Marianne chuckled to herself, returning to the couch to continue reading her book. 

_He never even stood a chance._

———

Having made his research, Bog knew all he could find out about the new family in town. They were Lamia. 

Vampires. 

He noted the fact they were day-walkers, vampires able to go in the sun. Specifically, this clan was Sunlight Lamia. Supposedly, they were more amiable and could bond and mingle well with humans. The branch of Lamia was not as dangerous to the community. 

So did the stories go—but Bog knew better. 

Every Sunlight Lamia could turn, become Twilight or even Midnight Lamia, making them into murderous creatures of the night. 

They _had_ to go. 

A week before Halloween, Bog discovered flyers pasted on street lights, stapled onto trees, rolled and posted into mailboxes all over town. He grit his teeth as he read the flyer through. 

They were throwing a Halloween house-warming party? Was this some kind of sick joke?

The vampires sure had some guts to invite a bunch of unsuspecting people into their midst. Bog wondered idly whether they meant to prey on the guests, feed on them and kill them, perhaps. 

_Or maybe they just wanted to throw a party?_

_No_. Growling to himself, Bog balled up the flyer in his hand around his clenched fist, staring at his feet. This was his town, his community. His tiny slice of peaceful existence and now there were Lamia roaming the streets, inviting people into their nauseating home, with who knew what kind of nefarious plans in mind. 

No one would listen to him, but maybe there were other ways to stop it all from happening.

After returning to his mother’s house, Bog removed his work clothes and changed into blue denim jean, flannel shirt, and heavy army boots. Over everything Bog threw on his leather bomber jacket and schooled a frown that better called snarl on his face. 

Down the stairs he went, meaning to take vigil outside the vampires’ mansion and learn more about them. 

_Know thy enemy, right?_

However, he didn’t get far. Blocking the front door was his mother. 

“Where do you think _you’re_ doing dressed like _that_?” Gesturing at Bog’s ensemble, Griselda advanced threateningly, the wooden spoon in her hand handled like a sword. She squinted her eyes at her son with an expressed he was overly familiar with. 

“I’m going for a walk. Is that not _allowed_?” Bog said, sarcasm dripping in every word. Usually, he had patience for his mother’s bossy antics, but now he had his job to do, and he couldn’t let her stand in his way to keep the people safe. 

“We have dinner plans tonight! I know that look. You’re going to be prowling till the middle of the night and Bog, you _better_ make it this time.”

Bog rolled his eyes. “Fine, Mam. I’ll make it,” he promised, sighing. 

“Good. Make sure you take a shower, shave and wear the shirt I’ll leave on your bed.” Moving aside, Griselda gave her instructions, clearing the way for Bog to leave. 

He grumbled, muttering something about not coming home just so she could treat him like a teenager. 

“What’s that?” Griselda tilted her head. 

“ _Nothing_!” Bog snapped, swinging round after crossing the threshold to close the door. “See ye later!”

———

“Dawn, do you know who that is?” Marianne called her sister over, pointing at a man that took residence on a bench close to the mansion’s front lawn. He had been feeding birds, and all around him were many birds of any size, from tiny goldfinches to the larger bluejays.

For the past hour, Marianne had been distracted from her painting in the drawing room, and had spent the time watching him spread food from a giant birdseed bag. The birds assembled around him, alone or in pairs, until they covered the stone bench and pavement.

Long after the seeds ran out, the birds remained, and Marianne was sure she could hear their twittering, chirping and cooing.

“I think I’ve seen him around here before… Maybe he’s a neighbour?”

Since they moved in, the other residents have been friendly but cautious around them. Unsure how to handle it, the family had remained mostly in their new home and in the land behind it, keeping to themselves. 

Like Marianne, as soon as Dawn laid eyes on the stranger, she got similarly transfixed and the two Lamia sisters watched the human get engulfed with birds. He reached for a goldfinch that settled on his shoulder, holding carefully it with large hands, and released it to the air once it was a distance away. 

Undeterred, the little bird took to the air to fly around the man’s head, its wings beating so hard, the black hair stirring over his forehead, falling over one eye. 

The human laughed aloud with a momentary burst of his smile. The sound travelled across the front lawn, borne on sound waves Marianne’s ears were sensitive enough to catch. 

He had a sexy smile. And a sexy laugh. 

_Hmmm_ …

Slowly, Marianne passed the tip of her tongue over her lower lip at the sight of the stranger playing with the birds. A bluejay jumped onto his knee, the one belonging to a long, shapely leg he rested over the other, equally long and equally shapely leg. 

“Hello? Marianne?”

She jumped at the hand suddenly resting on her shoulder, only just then realising her sister had been attempting to gain her attention for the past few minutes. So set on the man outside, she lost track of everything else around her. 

“What? Sorry, Dawn. What did you say?”

Shaking her head to clear it, Marianne forced herself not to look back outside the window, and turned her gaze to her sister. 

“I was going to say the others will be here any minute, but now I’m wondering other things.” Smirking, Dawn let a little fang slip out in mischief. 

“I know, I know. And you may wonder all you like, but nothing is going to happen.”

“Why not?” Dawn pouted, retracting her teeth. 

“He’s human, for one. And second, you know… you know I don’t… I _can’t_ do that anymore,” Marianne said in a tone that seemed to contain all the obvious issues of a vampire being with a human, especially one in her position. 

Besides, Marianne was finished with love. 

“Pfft, if you asked, Dad would let you have whatever you wanted.”

Marianne laughed, bitterness tainting the sound. “Are you kidding? He’s still on my back about Roland.”

“Oh. R-right. Roland…” Dawn’s expression turned guilty, and she avoided Marianne’s eye. “I forgot…”

“What did you do?” Sounds rose from the basement. The voices of their guests making themselves known, with the padding of feet on the staircase to the ground level. “Dawn, _what did you do_?”

“I… I didn’t do anything! Dad said it was a surprise! And… and that you would be happy!”

Panicked, Dawn’s perfectly styled short blonde hair began waving with a nonexistent wind—a sure-fire sign of her anxiety. 

“Oh, no…” Groaning, Marianne turned to the doorway of the drawing room just as a vision from a nightmare stepped in. 

“Babyfangs!”

———-

The birds were a handy excuse for his presence outside the Lamia House, though he prepared a book in his pocket just in case. And secretly, Bog enjoyed their company. Such delicate, lively creatures. They chatted and told him all kinds of fibs and tales. There was little he could do with the knowledge of which spots one would find the best worms in, but the birds were pleasant enough company and they helped him maintain discretion as he watched the Lamia House. 

About two hours into his watch, the calm air erupted with a scream, sending the birds to the air with mad chirps and noises of alarm. They twittered their goodbyes to Bog as they went, and his hand went to the secret pocket of his jacket. Unsure what to make of the commotion happening within the mansion he spent the afternoon watching, Bog stayed where he was. 

One window on the front side of the house smashed, and a small marble statue of an undetermined shape flew out with a force too strong for a human arm.

Luckily, the object was too large to fit through the ornate iron-wrought fence that surrounded the mansions’s grounds, and shattered upon contact. It made a high-pitched ringing between the fence’s bars, sending a cloud of gravel and dust to the air as it exploded. Wincing at the noise the missile caused, Bog focused on the voice on an enraged female screeching obscenities and curses that would have made his mother’s hair curl. 

Well, curl even _more_. 

At last the shouting ended, and he heard increasingly closer heavy stomps of someone pressing their entire body weight into their steps. Alarmed, he froze into place, staring at the Lamia House, resigning himself to whatever may emerge. 

The elaborately engraved front door slammed open and out came a woman. 

She moved with cat-like grace, the knee-length black satin dress she wore loose around her hips, swishing with unseen forces as though she stood in the middle of a storm. Now and then the hem rose, and Bog glimpsed her bare thighs. She was a Lamia, that much was clear, particularly when witnessing the way her short brown hair flowed around her stunning face as if in water, her golden eyes shooting sparks to any mortal that may come across her path. 

His instincts rebelled, torn between the two contradicting urges to get away or get closer, and before he could even move, the vampire blurred too fast for Bog to see, and pushed past the tall gate. 

She closed it shut again, huffing in short, shallow pants that made her chest rise and fall. Bog saw black flowers embroidered all over the vampire’s bodice, the neckline dipping down to her navel, soft-looking skin obscured by a lacy swath of fabric that really didn’t do all that much to cover her. 

He may have made a noise, or perhaps her attention would have gone to the first victim in her vicinity regardless, but the Lamia suddenly turned to Bog, the fire in her eyes dimming as she took him in, sitting like an idiot on the bench. 

As soon as she met his gaze, Bog jumped to his feet and began walking away rapidly, feeling hunted, with no clear direction. His heart almost beat right out of his chest, and not only from the adrenaline rush of having a vampire stand not ten feet away from him. 

When her eyes settled on his, Bog felt a jolt to his system. A shock of hot electricity that passed through his limbs, thrumming in his blood and settled in his groin, raising his entire body’s temperature a few degrees higher within seconds. 

_That is bad. Very bad. Need to go. Gotta get away.._

There was no way he could be attracted to the Lamia. She was a vampire. A blood drinker. A _leech_. 

_But so beautiful…_

And also a cold, heartless killer, with no remorse. 

_With gorgeous curves…_

Someone who _could_ and _would_ snap his spine in half with a finger. 

_Wonder how that smooth skin tastes like…_

. 

.

Bog didn’t make it to Griselda’s dinner plans that day.


	2. Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog tries to confront Marianne the vampire, but he fails, rather spectacularly.

“He has to go.”

“He can’t go, Marianne. He came with all the others, and you know the Conclave meeting is one of the most important times for us.” Dagda sat in his study, an ancient, leather-bound ledger book rested in front of him. The discussion had been going round in circles for the past hour, which involved much of the same statements spoken repeatedly from both sides of the study’s desk. 

“ _Make_ him. Or, better yet, let _me_ make him.” Marianne stood, leaning over the large, solid oak desk with a ferocious scowl marring the smooth skin of her face. She would have liked nothing better than to smash Roland into ittie bittie bits and remove him from her home, but her father stopped her. 

“I still can’t believe you’re behaving like… like such a toothling!” With a snap, Dagda slammed the attendance ledger closed. “Roland loves you and is willing to overlook your… recent transgressions—” 

“Do you even hear yourself, dad?” Marianne struggled to keep her voice levelled and calm. She had lost her temper earlier, punched her ex in the face, threw the marble status of Aphrodite he brought as a gift through the window, shattering the glass, and worst of all, she terrified the beautiful human that sat innocently outside till he ran away as fast as he could. “My recent transgressions? You say it as if cancelling the wedding was entirely baseless!”

Her father’s green eyes stared her down. He was not at all amused with his daughter when she returned after prowling the sunlit streets of their new home. “You can still go through with the wed—”

“I would die before marrying that bloodslug.” Marianne crossed her arms and stuck her chin in the air. There was no way anyone could ever make her go back to Roland. Nothing her father could say would give either of them that satisfaction. 

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Marianne. It’s only been a year.” Dagda’s voice turned pleading. “You’ve been together for a long time. Is there nothing worth saving?” he asked sadly. 

“Not with him, Dad. Not with anybody.” Marianne relaxed her stuff posture.

“Then…” Dagda made to rise from his chair, and Marianne, tired of talking in circles, backed away from the desk. There was no point is arguing with her father. Not when there were better things to do than talk about that jackass. 

“Then, nothing,” she said, her hair and dress swinging wildly about her, betraying her agitation as she left the study. 

~~~~~~

“Bog! You lazy bum! Get up!” 

Bog snapped his eyes open, rolling over and sitting up straight in his bed in one fluid motion, part relived and part disappointed to miss the ending of his dream. “Mam? Get out of my room!” He lifted the blanket and his knees higher, covering his bare chest and other parts of his body as his mother stood by the footboard, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. 

“You missed the dinner,” she hissed, “on _purpose_.” 

“No, it was not on purpose. Had I meant to miss it, I’d tell ye,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. A flash of memory from his less-than-pure dream crossed his mind and reminded him of his current state. “Now, get out, please.” he said through his teeth. It was still dark out. Why did she have to do this now?!

“How am I ever going to get any grandkids if you insist on skipping on our dinner plans?” Griselda waved her hands in the air. “There aren’t an endless supply of women willing to tolerate your poor attitude, Bog.” 

“Good! I don’t need women like that, anyway!” Bog relaxed his knees, straightening his legs out. The one positive outcome of his mother’s lack of consideration for his personal space was the rapid and savage reduction of any uncomfortable physical situations, though he hardly felt inclined to thank her for it. 

“I’m going to be more difficult about this, Bog. I think I’ve been too gentle with you.” 

“ _Too gentle_?” he barked, laughing. “The only thing ye haven’t done send them to my bed at night and hope I won’t be able to tell what they do!”

“Maybe that’s a good idea!” Griselda raised her voice, shouting back, her hair standing on end. “You’ve been moping around the house and town for too long.” 

“It’s my life, Mam,” Bog sighed, rubbing a hand over his face again. “I just don’t want that right now or with any of them.”

Deflated, Griselda got down to her feet again. “Then when, Bog? With whom?” 

Falling back to lie on the bed, he answered uselessly with a, “I don’t know.”

~~~~~~~~

Marianne watched the sunrise from her east-facing room. The warmth from it thawing her stiff posture, allowing her to relax. After her talk with her father, she locked herself in her bedroom, and ignored all knocks and tentative calls. She kept watching the tall, heavily curtained window, though she couldn’t have said what for. 

At last, the sun began washing the streets with golden light, and so fast she blurred, Marianne unlocked the heavy wooden door, and flew on her tip-toes down the stairs and out the front door, not even bothering with any breakfast. 

The birds that settled on the empty bench, as though awaiting its previous resident, took off with a surprised whoosh to the new pink and blue sky. Marianne took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and closed her eyes as she took in the pure energy of the rising sun. Her blood warmed, her limbs feeling stronger. This was just what she needed after a night of standing still. 

“Why are ye here?” 

Marianne jumped, hissing, to turn towards the voice that startled her. 

He was there again, standing well over a head taller than her, the human that sat on the bench the day before. The same leather jacket and heavy boots, but the low-slung jeans he wore were now a worn black pair, rather than the blue he had on yesterday. This close to him, Marianne could see the tight dark blue shirt he wore under the scruffy black leather. A tiny fuzz of dark curly hair showed at the top of the shirt where a button was undone. 

_Delicious_. 

“Why are ye here?” he repeated, the base tones turning rumbly, as though a growl was close behind. His nose, sharp and long, almost twitched when he spoke. 

Tilting her head to the side, Marianne smiled, showing her teeth just a little. His rudeness was amusing. “We saw this house, we liked it, we bought it,” she answered him directly. 

He took half a step back, while keeping the deep frown on his face. The man had gorgeous blue eyes that reminded Marianne of glaciers. He kept them on hers stiffly, as though everything else about her was offensive to him. 

"I know what ye are." 

Marianne saw his dusky lips shape words, and glimpsed his slightly crooked teeth, all distracting her from the meaning of what he said.

"What?" She shook her head to clear it.

“Vampires.” The man bared his teeth, making Marianne laugh. 

“Uh… If you hadn’t noticed, I’m standing here,” She stepped closer to him, drawn to the scent coming off the stranger—the sharpness of mint and the deep musk of cedar-wood mixing to make a heady combination, “in the light of day. I can’t be a vampire or I’d be ashes right now.” 

He sneered, but stood his ground, hands sliding into his jacket’s pockets. She took another step. 

“I—” 

“Yer Lamia. Sunlight Lamia,” he whispered, blue eyes watching Marianne intently. 

“What?” She froze, her foot out, as she about to take another step. 

“Ye shouldn’t be here,” he insisted, squaring his wide shoulders and making the leather strain with a tiny creak. 

_Shouldn’t be here?_

“What’s your name?” Marianne asked, making a point of looking the man up and down slowly, letting him see her take his body in. 

_Oh, so rude… but, damn it, I can’t seem to help myself._

“Th… that’s not important!” He turned an attractive red, the sharp, high cheekbones flushing. Marianne felt her stomach tighten at the sight. 

“It’s important to me,” she told him, another smooth step in his direction let her be so close she could touch him. “I want to know what to… call you,” she paused suggestively, letting him take his guess at what she meant.

“Er… I’m…” The man brought his hands out of his pockets, stirring the air between them in an almost nervous action. 

“It’s all right,” she murmured. It didn’t matter that she swore off love and romance. It didn’t matter what the man said about her and her family. Marianne knew he wanted her. She could smell it on him, and the knowledge of it made every nerve in her body sing, since apparently, she wanted him, too. Lust, she reminded herself, was not love. “My name is Marianne.”

“Bog,” he choked out, looking surprised at himself. Then he frowned deeper. “Ye all should leave.” Concluded, he turned around to go. 

“Or…” Marianne quickly side-stepped him, sliding a hand lightly over his elbow as she came around to face him again. He grunted and pulled his arm away, but Marianne noticed how his pupils dilated, heard his heart speed up, but not from fear. 

Well… Not much, anyway. 

“ _Or_ … you can stay here and keep me company. I'm going to be out here all day.” She grinned at the disbelieving look on Bog’s face. Oh, but he was adorable, and she felt it in her bones. 

"Why?" he faltered in his backward step.

"I don't want to be in the house." 

“How come?” Bog looked suspicious, glancing at the large, colonial style mansion. They had it repainted in a soft eggshell white prior to the family moving. The entire place restored and redone to its previous glory after decades of neglect. 

When viewing the place, Marianne adored the charm it gave off. The grounds behind the mansion rolling wide with a small grove of plum trees. There had been an ancient, run down barn she requested to be left mostly alone. Rustic farming tools and old horse riding equipment were stored in the barn, and sometimes Marianne liked to spend hours there, sketching them, remembering the times in which they had a use, bringing forth memories of her younger years. 

“If you stayed, I just may tell you.” She grinned wider, only showing the tiniest bit of fang. 

He said he knew what they were. But what did he really _know_?

~~~~~~~

_No. Just, no._

There was nothing that could make Bog get off this chair, and walk the way down the street to the old mansion house, and continue talking to that vampire. 

Nothing at all. 

After their brief conversation, Bog left and went back home to keep a distant vigilance over the Lamia’s activities. He felt the piercing golden eyes watch him walk away, a tiny pinprick of heat that moved along his body like a laser. Unsettlingly, it fixated on his rear much of the time, bringing a hot flush of embarrassment that ran like licks of fire under his skin. 

It was hard to tell whether the vampire called Marianne looked at him like she found him attractive, or whether she found his blood attractive. 

The latter. It was the latter, for sure. Such a gorgeous woman, vampire or no vampire, would not find him physically appealing. 

_Though_ … 

No. That scent must have been wrong. Maybe from someone else.

_It wafted off her like.._

Definitely not. The cloves, lavender and spicy ginger scent coming off her skin had no telltale smell of arousal mixed in it. 

Bog’s nose was wrong. 

_Yes, that must have been it._

He groaned out loud, clenching his fists over the kitchen counter, where he sat on the bar chair by the island. Resting his fevered forehead over the cold granite, he uselessly tried to cool his body down. 

He was only grateful for the fact his mother hadn't been home when he returned. Had she seen how red his face was, she would have had… _questions_.

It was hard enough, nigh impossible, to forget the way Marianne moved, how everything she did, everything about her, drew him in. Her smell, her skin, her smile. The way the form fitting dark purple blouse she wore hugged her torso, and the tight trousers she wore, bordering on legging, showing the curve of muscle on her legs and leaving the clear lines of her body on display...

With a screech of the metal of the chair legs on the wooden floor, Bog snapped upright and grumbled as he began peeling his clothes off, taking the stairs two and three at a time. 

_A cold shower. All I need is an ice-cold shower._

~~~~~~~

The old barn had a modicum for privacy, and so she went there after the human left. 

Marianne had no need for jackets, even after the day became overcast and the sun vanished behind a thick blanket of clouds. Dark grey rolled over the blue of the sky, alerting Marianne to the coming of rain. 

Bog. 

She had a name, now. An unusual name for a human, but it suited him. Mr. tall, dark, and sexy had such a forceful presence to him, that made her reckless. She took a chance and was shot down.

Marianne bit her lower lip, fisting her hands over her knees where she sat on a discarded tractor tyre. The man didn’t want to spend time with her, and the rejection hurt. 

She understood why, of course. He said Marianne and her family should leave. They shouldn’t be in his little town, with all the little people in their little streets and their little minds. He clearly detested vampires. 

After being sheltered most of her life, she knew something like this may happen when moving to Faewood. 

And yet…

The longer she spent thinking about it, the angrier she got. And anger was easier to feel than pain. Her frustration had replaced the hurt enough, so she stopped sulking about Bog's harsh words and decided herself anew. 

They belonged in this town just as much as anyone else. They bought the house, renovated it, and pretty much did a favor to everyone. The place was an eyesore, before Marianne and her family moved in. 

Bog was wrong. He knew nothing about them. He was just a human, and he didn’t know half of what he thought he did. He probably read a few myths and stories online, and the internet was hardly a reliable source of information. 

Straightening up, Marianne resolved to do all she could to prove Bog wrong. He would see the truth about her and her family’s lifestyle. And if on the by and by he changed his mind about Marianne herself, she looked forward to reject him. 

Marianne spent the rest of the day wandering the pasture and grounds, eating sweet, ripe plums from the grove. And she _definitely_ wasn’t picturing feeding the plums to Bog, licking the juice that would run down his chin. 

No, she didn’t imagine that _at all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts..... and I promise there are reasons and plot 😆


	3. Sleepless in Faewood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Bog nor Marianne can sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING**
> 
> There is a short mention of some gore and horror.

The moon was a sickle in the sky, and Bog laid in bed staring at it. The day had passed slowly as he went through old books and tomes searching for mentions about the Lamia. The entries for the Midnight Lamia were plentiful—accounts of successful and horribly failed hunts, stories and legends. Savage, vicious, wild, bloodthirsty. All were terms to describe the deadliest kind of vampire.

Twilight Lamia were less common, but still posed a risk to humans and supernaturals. Able to tolerate the twilight hours of the day, they still hunted humans for their blood, though they required less of it, and rarely killed their victims. 

Sunlight Lamia were the rarest kind of all, which made the books’ knowledge of them minimal. There were two different written accounts, both vastly contradicting.

The first was a story about Sunlight Lamia going berserk in a village over two hundred years before. The slaughter was unimaginable, horrifying—in broad daylight, over a fifty humans died, torn to pieces, drained of blood. There had been survivors, some women and children and elderly that hid in the local church, thinking it would protect them.

The myths of vampires being cursed and thus affected by churches, holy water and crosses were utterly false. Bog knew the very few ways to kill and repel Lamia, and none of them had any religious basis.

The second account had depicted the peaceful existence of the Sunlight Lamia and humans. Requiring little to no blood—depending on their exposure to the sun—the vampires were only different by their enhanced senses, strength, agility and their long lives.

Which one would he believe? Which one was true? Could he choose between stories? What caused the berserk rampage and slaughter of that town, all those years ago? What could stop it from happening here, now?

It was almost impossible to separate myth and legend from reality, and as Bog’s only personal experience with Lamia had been in his teens and was traumatic, to say the least, he was inclined to believe the worst.

Sighing, Bog turned over to his back, looking away from the window. The moon’s curved edges turned into the shape of a hauntingly beautiful smile, raising his temperature again.

Why did she have that kind of effect on him? It was a lesson in his usually flawless self-control not to get up and go to find her right now.

"Marianne the vampire."

Unaware of what he was doing, Bog whispered her name out loud to himself, just to hear it spoken. He wouldn’t close his eyes, knowing what he would see, and bunched his hands in the covers of his bed.

A ghostly hand ran over his arm, and he released another sigh in a gust, rolling away from it.

He needed to go see if she was still there. Maybe knowing she wasn’t a danger to people would make his mind relax enough to take the few hours of rest he needed each night.

There was a part of him that screamed about how bad of an idea it was, but mostly, Bog ignored it.

Finding her would allow him to go home again and sleep.

That’s totally how it’s going to go.

~~~~~~~~~

Marianne returned to the house after sundown. Avoiding Roland became pointless as he could follow her around once twilight fell.

Unlike her and her family, Roland was a Twilight Lamia. Unable to stand the daylight and extremely UV sensitive, it forced him to remain safely in the shadows until the day waned enough for him to leave the house.

"Sweet tooth!" the bane of Marianne's existence called as soon as she stepped through the backdoor of the house.

"You healed from the last broken nose, Roland, but I warn you. I will continue to break it until one day, it won't heal again." Marianne stared at the green-eyed vampire, relishing the quick step back he took.

"Marianne, you haven't given me a single opportunity to explain myself," he complained, the once charming southern accent of his voice soured in her ears, making her grind her teeth together in a superb effort not to drive a sharpened stick through his heart.

"I don’t believe there is anything _to_ explain. Your dick in Kiara did a lot of explaining, already," Marianne spat, crossing her arms over her chest to keep from throttling him.

Roland seemed to refuse to either take the hint or read her body language. "Kiara threw herself at me, Babyfangs! I hardly even touched her!" he pleaded pathetically, retreating to block the open archway of the kitchen.

_What did I ever see in this simpering fool?_

An image of Bog, human and fragile and soft, but still standing his ground against a creature he knew could kill him, crossed her mind. He was brave, but not a complete moron. A total opposite of the pitiful excuse for a Lamia that stood before her.

She sighed, and the way the air left her clenched teeth sounded like a hiss. “Let me through, Roland. _Now_.” Marianne’s short, brown hair began rising around her head in a halo, threat darkening her features. If he didn’t move out of her way, her ex would begin losing limbs.

Cowardly in the face of a true challenge, Roland backed away from Marianne, smirking in a half-hearted attempt at impressing her. “I don’t really know what you’re trying to do here, Marianne, but I’m the best you’ll ever have. You know that’s true,” he said, right before he turned around and blurred in the basement's direction.

“And good riddance!” Marianne shouted, knowing her voice would follow him.

~~~~~~~

“Cyril, Isabelle, Gerald. Good evening to all of you.”

The other council members greeted Dagda back as they all stood in the large study, holding the meeting.

“I realise the day before our traditional primary conclave meeting was interrupted due to… unforeseen happenings…” Dagda began the assembly delicately, tip-toeing around his daughter’s frank assault of Roland when he and the other members came upstairs from the Mirror Portal.

Dagda knew Roland meant to come as a Keeper and kept the secret from Marianne, hoping to surprise her into realising her feelings to the charming young man were not as absent as she believed them to be.

Clearly, he underestimated his daughter’s sentiment. The whole time he hosted the meeting, Dagda wondered whether it was too late altogether. Should he just give up the plans and agreements he made with Roland’s family?

After the conclave, socialisation could begin, and Dawn, Roland, and the other two members of the guest party entered the study. Marianne was nowhere to be seen, and Dagda tried not to feel overly disappointed about her absence. She made her choice, and his eldest daughter was nothing if not stubborn. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a blurred flash of Marianne’s outline as she snuck by the study’s door, heading out to roam the night.

She hadn’t done that in over a hundred years until last year. A being of the light, Marianne, just like Dawn and Dagda himself, nourished on the sun’s radiation and did not need to travel around in the nighttime, for hunting or exercise.

Sighing, Dagda closed the study’s door, allowing Marianne to come and go as she pleased with the discretion she obviously craved. He loved his daughter, and while he didn’t understand everything that she did, he wanted her happiness only.

For the sake of Marianne’s happiness, he decided to have another talk with Roland. It was prime time to get to the bottom of this whole misunderstanding. 

~~~~~~~~

The night’s air was crisp, fresh and full of moisture. It was hardly midnight and Bog already smelled the dew collecting on the stems of grass on the lawns fringing the road, the scent of sweet blooming night flowers. Tiny critters chirped their song among the bushes and green growth, calling to each other, seeming to seek a mate.

Bog didn’t want to think he was doing the very same thing.

The night didn’t call as it once had. The silent draw to prowl in the forest that bordered his backyard didn’t seem as appealing as it had in his younger years. A thick, rain heavy cloud rolled over the thin crescent of the moon, hiding the meagre glow of natural light from Bog’s eyes, but he didn’t need it. Yellowed street-lamps escorted him on the short walk down to the Lamia House at the end of the street, and his chest contracted at the sight of the newly restored mansion.

It hid hideously dangerous people, an ironic, echoing contradiction to its original purpose.

Hunters.

Over a century before, the estate belonged to a wealthy family of Hunters that made their fortune by taking the belongings and treasures of the “monsters” they murdered. They had not spared even innocent supernaturals or folk that only dealt with the supernatural. The Hunters ruled with an iron hand—human and inhuman feared them alike. Eventually, there was a rising against the Hunters, and with a combined effort of local townsfolk and the area’s supernatural’s, they were brought low.

The story was well known in those parts. The local humans were mostly aware of the existence of the secret, underground world of the supernatural, and even have some living among them. A few fae folks, some shapeshifters, a handful of witches. In the years after they defeated the Hunters, the small town blossomed and multiplied several times in size and population.

But no one ever went to that house. Bog wasn’t even aware it was on sale until the Lamia sought permission to purchase it and brought their crew to repair and restore the old place.

Blessed with long legs and haunted by the ghost of the vampire’s hand on his skin, Bog reached the mansions’ gate in record time. He walked as fast as he could without running. Because of that effort, he was just in time to see a silhouette, framed by the light pouring from the open back door to the house, before it faded as the door closed, the shadow vanishing into the darkness.

Something left the house to hunt, and with his heart beginning to pound in his chest, the adrenaline spurring his blood to rush through his veins, Bog followed it, intent to make certain it would not harm a single soul.

~~~~~~~

Despite being in her nightclothes, Marianne left the house and relished the sensation of cold air tickling her bare skin as she virtually flew down the hills. Real, natural wind blowing in her hair. She allowed herself a breathless laugh, spreading her uncovered arms wide, taking in the clean, exhilaratingly fresh outside.

A quick run across the pasture brought her to a closely growing woods. She’d seen it before, toed along the edges of it, but after a sniff told her the territory was claimed, she hadn’t stepped in. Respect among the inhuman and human neighbours was vital for modern living—it wouldn’t do to return to the old ways of savage wars over lands and territory.

But now, reckless and almost desperate in need of distraction, she ran along the edge of the forest, searching for a way in.

Finally, a single tree was not marked with the repellent, and Marianne climbed up it rapidly, reaching the top within a few seconds. She dug her bare toes and fingers into the bark, finding or making holds where she needed them. A mere few heartbeats of weaving between the tall sycamore’s branches let her break through the canopy.

Marianne turned her face to the sky, the barest hint of moonlight struck her eyes. She took a deep breath, scenting a mixture of smells that each evoked a different reaction. 

Ozone. A storm was coming, and if she had turned her head, she would have seen the first flash of lightning. Marianne’s skin pebbled with goosebumps at the acrid, clean smell.

Rain. A musty smell that brought the wood’s scent into sharper focus, and fond memories of childhood and adventures to her thoughts.

A Shifter somewhere in the forest—a coyote or a fox, if she was to judge right.

A whole assembly of growing things, blooming flowers, earthy mushroom, bushes and trees and berries. The natural aroma of the forest.

Animals—birds of all kinds, tree-living rodents and underground creatures. A few night prowlers wandered around, their hearts beat a wet thump that spoke of life.

 _Man_.

With a sharp twist that rattled the branch she was on, Marianne turned to the scent of a man. But not just any man. Bog. He was here.

~~~~~~~~

The shadow moved at incredible speeds, but undeterred, Bog followed it. It ran along the forest’s border, looking as though it sought entry. If Bog had any doubt whether it was a vampire, the shadow’s inability to pass beyond the invisible boundary he built up confirmed it. The rosemary and citronella mixture did its job, and the vampire could not cross over the line. Bog smirked, self-satisfied with his ingenuity.

Until the shadow suddenly stepped between two trees and entered.

Out of the vantage point, he watched, high on the hills and carefully following the patterns of light and shadow to track the silhouette as it crept around the open space. With it disappearing into the gloom, it would be impossible to track.

Bog swore under his breath and took off like a shot to where the weak link in his defences lie, skidding down the slopes.

He reached the tree, and indeed, the repellent was weaker there. Enough so that a Lamia may pass.

He swore again, louder this time, and looked around, inhaling as he did, searching for a trail to follow.

The vague residue of ginger, cloves and lavender tickled his nose. The only warning before she dropped out of the sky, landing in almost complete silence to stand beside him.

Marianne.

“Oh, for the…!” Bog shouted, one hand over his heart, and another on his knee, struggling to calm himself. The vampire appeared out of nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack.

“You’re here. Again,” she said, and Bog looked to her, the words in his throat evaporating as he took her in.

Clad in nothing more than short, lacy, magenta nightdress, her skin glowing with an unnatural pearlescent gleam, Marianne took his breath away. The golden eyes stared, and Bog saw the beginning of a smile stretching her dark lips, eager light making her entire face bloom like a flower.

“You…” The warning to stay out of his forest died on his lips. Bog straightened up, looking her over suspiciously. She had the chance to run the length of the wood had she wanted to, but Marianne stayed on the border, not trespassing any further than the first tree in the line.

Why?

“You came back.” The hint of a smile grew to a full-blown grin, and she stepped closer. Still reeling, he allowed her to be so close that her scent assaulted him on every side. He breathed it in, letting it saturate his lungs.

Slowly, Marianne dragged her tongue over her lips, the pinpricks of fangs catching the soft tissue with a tiny hiss, and Bog clenched his hands into tight fists in an almost painful effort not to capture her mouth with his.

“Yer not supposed to be in this forest,” Bog said, far softer than he meant to. Addled with the all sensual assault the vampire attacked him with, his brain hitched and skipped, fighting his body for dominance over his actions.

Adrenaline made his muscles tremble. The need to touch her skin overwhelmed him. For the first time, Bog took an unconscious step forward—getting closer, rather than away.

Which, of course, meant that in that exact moment, the sky opened, and rain fell in heavy sheets to drench the earth in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready...


	4. Rain, Rain, Don’t Go Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is—the smut no one asked for. 
> 
> Welp, it was bound to happen. Tension snapped like and these little beasties are having their way. 
> 
> *runs and hide in embarrassment*

Rain. Sweet and fresh and cold rain that streamed down Bog’s long face, down the sharp nose and high cheekbones, pasting the medium length hair to his skull, sticking his clothes to his skin. 

If they were tight before, they showed his broad shoulders, narrow waist and slim legs all the more now.

At that moment the determination to prove him wrong in his assumptions, to reject any advances he may have made have popped right out of her mind as if it was nothing more than a thin, flimsy bubble. 

Bog’s blue eyes gleamed in the darkness, looking dangerous, hot and hungry. Marianne didn’t know one look from a man’s eye, and she could turn into such a wanton creature, her body coming alive under Bog’s direct attention.

Blurring, she reached for him at the same time he went for her, their mouths clashing in sync with a flash of lightning. The light barely faded before the ground beneath them shook with thunder. 

His lips were scorching, moving against hers with an almost wild abandon. The downpour meant nothing at all, and within a moment, Marianne had him against the tree, the need to touch his skin overwhelming everything, his scent assaulting her senses. 

A noise rose from deep within Bog’s chest—something not unlike a growl, not quite a moan, and his hands fell on her waist. Marianne felt the heat pouring off them right through the soaked-through fabric of her nightgown. Like a vice, she wrapped her arms around his neck, forcing him to bend. Her hands twined in his wet hair, curving to the shape of his head under her fingers. Bog tilted his head, allowing the kiss to deepen.

Neither of them was gentle or soft, or sweet. There was an underlining tension—an urge beyond understanding to take and possess. 

Gliding along the front of his body, Marianne pressed closer to Bog, groaning into his mouth when he put one of his legs between hers. The coil in her abdomen tightening, demanding relief when she felt the hard bulge in his jeans at the same time as the rough material over his thigh did curious things to the aching place between her hips. 

All her hidden wishes burst free, spurring her on to explore the hard planes of Bog’s body. She slid her hands under the drenched shirt, feeling the way his skin sweltered and his heart raced under her fingers. Over his chest was a matting of curly hair, leading downward like an arrow, pointing the way.

In return, Bog freely roamed her body with his hands, touching everywhere, leaving burning tracks in his wake. Greedily, he felt all over, squeezing where he could, smoothing over where he couldn’t. When he reached for her breast, rubbing a thumb softly over a peak, Marianne almost unravelled. 

Aching from need, she broke away, her heart thumping in her chest, her core pulsing in time to the beats. It was almost unbearable, unnatural—something that had never happened to her before.

“Come with me,” she managed to say between pants, taking one of his hands in hers, relishing the sheer size of it. Bog lowered his head weakly to lean against her forehead, his temperature rising with each moment till he practically steamed in the cold night. His shoulders rose and fell as he gulped the air, water dripping down both their faces.

“I shouldn’t,” he mumbled his objection. Despite his words, Bog’s eyes blazed like two orbs of blue fire. The pure desire in them undoing her in ways she never felt before.

“It’s okay…” Marianne brought her mouth to his ear, forcing her breath to wash over it, delighting in his shudder. “I won’t bite…” She let an extended fang graze against the sensitive earlobe gently. “Unless you ask me to.”

~~~~~~~

The barn was snug and better maintained than it ought to have been. Its old paint peeling on the outside, in a shade that so faded it was impossible to tell what it was originally, the wooden door hardly creaked as Bog stumbled after Marianne. Under better circumstances—or rather, with a clearer mind—Bog might have thought to be surprised at the mostly clean, dry space inside the old structure. Old farming equipment was strewn against the walls. A stack of antique saddles and other ancient necessities for horse riding hung in neat rows over the far side of the barn. 

A small loft platform rested on the left side, with a ladder leading up to it, where there was a thin memory foam mattress, made with simple, jasmine-scented cotton sheets along with a small bedside table that was stocked with books, sketch pads, and pencils. 

Though, all this and more, Bog would only notice much, much later in the night and following morning. 

The moment the odd pair burst through the doors of the barn, they hadn’t made it much further into the place than a few steps after closing the door behind them.

Bog shoved his waterlogged jacket off awkwardly while Marianne dropped to her knees in front of him, heedless of the rapidly forming mud puddle under their dripping bodies. She fumbled with the buttons of his jeans, her warm breath collecting in a steamy cloud around Bog’s pelvis, making him shiver with mindless anticipation as he felt it through the soaked denim. 

The shirt he wore was pasted to his skin, making the buttons almost impossible to open. With a guttural growl, he popped them all out, ripping most off. They hit the opposite wall with an audible ting, and he threw the sodden shirt off, just as Marianne turned her face up, mischief gleaming in her enchanting gold eyes. 

She got his jeans open.

Before he could utter a single word, she pulled them, along with his boxers, down just enough to free the captured erection, making him groan loudly with intense relief at the removed pressure. A dizzy step back and Bog leaned on the wooden wall of the barn, his hands flat on the grainy surface, searching for a place to hold on. 

Under her full control, Marianne had him there, her mouth wet and warm and, oh, hell, that tongue of hers moving in ways that should be illegal. Relentless, she licked her wicked way around the already leaking head, using her small hands to squeeze with that perfect amount of pressure to drive him wild. 

Head swimming, pulse racing, teeth grinding, Bog felt almost giddy from her ministrations, fever rising impossibly high to cloud his brain and make the world more than a little fuzzy around the edges. It was hard to make sense of anything, moans and groans escaping his tightly clenched jaws; the storm inside him echoing the one raging outside. She wanted him—actually wanted him—and her actions left no room for any doubt.

Lightning flashed, thunder clapped, the rain hammered down on the wooden roof. It had been a long time since anyone touched Bog, and never had they done it with this level of enthusiasm. Far too quickly, he felt himself reach his limit.

And that. Simply. Would. Not. Do. 

There was a woman that was in just as much need as him, and she was hollowing her cheeks, determined to get everything out of him. Grasping the one tiny lifeline to his sanity, he focused on Marianne.

“NNgnnnn, _NO_!” Crumbling in half at the acute sensations, Bog held Marianne by the shoulder, gently pushing her away.

Her lips came unstuck with a pop, and she pouted as if genuinely disappointed, scowling up to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked petulantly. 

Her wet hair made her look like a half-drowned kitten, her sweet, dark mouth pursing in a way that made Bog’s heart constrict painfully in his chest. A flood of unfamiliar and alarming affection diluted the animalistic lust that rushed him. Marianne’s long, dark eyelashes clumped around her deep gold eyes, and Bog felt like he would burst if he didn’t have her right there and then. 

_What is she doing to me?_

Disturbing thoughts swept aside, Bog pulled her up to her feet, twisting, so their positions got reversed. Flush against the wall, Marianne’s body seemed so tiny compared to him. His cock throbbed, chagrined at the loss of her attentions, but he ignored it. For a few moments, he only pressed on top of her, rubbing his nose in her rain-soaked hair, letting her scent wash over him like a tidal wave. 

Ducking his head, he ran his tongue over her throat, tasting the sweetness of her skin, feeling her tremble under his hands. Slowly making his way down with his mouth, Bog worked the dress higher, wishing to see her—all of her. 

_The thing needs to go. Now._

Only too happy to comply, Marianne smiled, shoving away until she had some space, her face glowing as another bolt of lightning flashed. The heat from her gaze tore his insides apart, and she gripped the cleavage of her dress, a tiny rip resounding even through the noise of the storm. Overcome, Bog put his hands on hers and tore the rest of the cloth down the front. 

She threw the remnants of the dress to the side, showing him the fact she had absolutely nothing under it. Not a stitch of clothing covered the glorious vision of her body—she was a goddess of night and water, naked and stunning. 

And his to have—at least for that night.

_How did I get so fucking lucky?_

Bog swallowed hard, his mouth flooding with saliva. He could have devoured her whole. 

Instincts settling over him with swirling fog, Bog fell to his knees. At that height, he could reach her perfect, milky white breasts. He took them by both hands, relishing how well they fit in his grasp. On one side he toyed with a dusky pink nipple, rolling it between his fingers, enjoying the breathy squeaks she made in response. The other he took into his mouth, sucking on it, teasing it with his teeth. 

Marianne swore softly, moaning as her hands gripped his wet hair. His free hand dragged down the satin skin of her belly, making the muscles contract, the skin pebbles with goosebumps. Reaching his goal, Bog felt the mound of curls. He stopped, looking up, seeking her permission.

She already had her eyes glued on him, instantly meeting his. The need in the golden-depths took his breath away, and she grabbed his hand, bringing it between her legs, where it met her slick and hidden place. 

~~~~~~~~

So close, Bog let out an aura of burning heat around himself. Marianne’s entire body vibrated at the feeling of his feverish, rain-slick skin sliding over hers. 

He opened his eyes, captivating her in them. Like a bird with a snake, Bog held her under his gaze. The man could have asked for anything at all, and she would have given it to him, so full of intense emotions as she was. He still had one nipple in his gorgeous mouth, the scruffy beard scratching pleasantly over her over sensitive skin. 

Long, clever finger stroked the folds of her centre, making her whimper with need. He ran his thumb over the hooded bundle of nerves, and she moaned loudly, jumping as if electric currents run through her veins along with the wildly rushing blood. 

Bog kept playing with her body for what felt like an eternity—each moment stretched and unending, continuously bringing her to the brink before receding again until her knees wobbled and her head spun.

Then, he removed her breast from his lips, leaving it tingling and wanting in the absence. Too surprised to speak, Marianne hissed, then quieted down when she saw and felt Bog drag one of her legs up, draping it over his shoulder, altogether uncaring of the mud that trailed his bare chest and back.

For the first time since they met, Bog smiled at her. The sight of it made Marianne’s heart flutter in her chest. He was so beautiful, with that shy smile, lips pulled lopsidedly to one side. A little bit of the raging desire softened, reforming into tenderness. She stroked his face gently, passing her finger over the raspy cheeks, ending her journey at his ear.

She flicked it with a nail, and he grinned, one eye squinting as he winced dramatically. Oh, he was precious. There was a sweet, fun side to Bog that she could just barely glimpse, and with her whole being, she wished to see and explore all of it.

The newly discovered tender feelings and her wishful thinking hopelessly fled out of her mind when, quick as a flash, that sweetness turned sly, and without warning, Bog fastened his fiery mouth to her core.

Instantly, white-hot flames ran all over Marianne’s flesh, the cry she let out drowned by another boom of thunder. The entire structure of the barn shook with the strength of it, but Bog didn’t pay it any mind. He continued to attack in the best way possible.

Tongue lashing over the apex, Bog produced two fingers, sliding them inside the gushing entrance, feeling her out. 

Mariann arched off the wall completely, her hands set on his head like an anchor, lest she got lost at sea. Bog held her in place, taking the burden of her weight with no visible effort.

Unsurprisingly, supernatural or mortal, no woman could hold off in the face of such wicked assault.

“Ahh, AH, Bog, OOH, I.. I’m… I’m com-comi…” she stuttered out, but before the words were fully out, Bog let go, wrapping his large hands around her waist to lift her. Undeterred, her body kept its course of action. Just as everything in her lower abdomen clenched with pleasure, beginning a blinding series of spasms, Bog, still kneeling in a puddle of mud, lowered her until he plunged his waiting length into her depths.

Her moan turned into a higher-pitched scream, reaffirmed by the rumbling groan, bordering a roar from Bog. He didn’t move, seeming to relish the feeling of Marianne’s walls squeezing and pulsing around him with the aftershock. 

Holy blazing stars, he was scalding hot, and she felt every inch of the generous member stretching her.

Though half sightless from pleasure and over-stimulation, she saw him throw his head back, falling backwards till he sat on his jeans covered bottom on the sloughy floor, leaning on his hands behind him.

Together, their bodies as one, they shivered. Marianne felt him pulse and twitch within her, and before she fully recovered, she started to move, reacting without thought to his need.

Rocking against him, her hands braced on his thighs, she felt a welling of unnerving emotion in her chest, demanding her attention. 

_I can’t be falling in love. I don’t even know him!_

But, before any further thinking could be done, Bog joined her motions with perfect harmony, hitching his hips up and down. He moved quick, like a piston, intent on Marianne riding her climax right into a new one. 

True to every silent promise he made, Bog made her lose herself again within minutes. Head hanging forward, back bent like a bow, Marianne let out a long, keening cry, flashing colours displacing her from the real world behind her closed lids. Her knees came together, and she shook, tensing and releasing her muscles helplessly, lost within the throes of climax.

This unbridled passion was uncharted territory. Marianne felt out of control, out of sorts, out of her mind, but may God help her, if it wasn’t the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to her. 

And it wasn’t even over, yet.

Bog didn’t stop; he didn’t pause his efforts or let his pace slack. Persistently pounding into her, he bared his teeth, breathless growl after breathless growl flowing out of his mouth to wash over her sweat-covered skin. 

At the same time she felt his member grow bigger and somehow even hotter, Bog let out a row of gasping curses, and together they raced to the Grand Finale. 

In truth, Marianne had forfeited the part of her that was rational and civil long ago. All that was left between them was the unspoken, bewildering, incomprehensible connection that drove them to temporary delirium of senses. 

She surrendered to it, let it govern her as she took control, bouncing up and down in her effort to impale herself. Bog reclined back further, giving her his chest for support. 

He reached his one unmuddied hand between them to the place where they joined and rubbed a fervent thumb over her bud.

Unexpectedly, yet spectacularly, a final orgasm tore through Marianne at the light pressure, the force of it making her curl inward. Hardly aware of Bog’s hoarse cry as he quickly followed, releasing everything he held back within her, thrusting sporadically for a few seconds more.

The loudest thunderclap yet had the roof of the barn tremble. Rain morphed to hail, and the cacophony without covered the sounds of winded pants within. 

The feeling of scorching skin over her forehead had Marianne become aware of Bog again. Just as she bent down, he pushed upward, both of them drawing together until she collapsed completely, falling on his heaving chest in an exhausted heap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll have you know, this was NOT meant to happen. They just DID it and I was, *shrug* I guess I’m going to have to post this now?
> 
> Never posted nsfw stuff, and am very nervous about it :D


	5. Pillowtalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who guessed it? 
> 
> We all guessed it.

There was a tiny window, only seen from high up on the loft. It showed only darkness and the occasional flash of lightning, followed by steadily distant thunder, that persisted in making the barn quake and shiver.

Marianne had reassured him that it was safe—she had personally supervised the safety regulations brought up to code from this century. Only too keen to relax and allow her searching fingers to play across his chest, Bog closed his eyes, trailing his own fingertips over her smooth bareback, making pillow-talk in subdued whispers.

When they recovered, Bog removed the rest of his thoroughly filthy clothes off, hanging them carelessly to dry over a discarded woodpile.

With the fever in his blood sated—for the time being—Bog forced the invading thoughts of guilt and self-loathing out of his mind and heart, content to wait out the storm with Marianne.

She showed him up the platform, giving him an arousing view of her underside as she quickly climbed up the ladder. That led to more fun, coupled with thunder, and eventually, they both snuggled under the covers together. Her voice had soft, melodious tones to it, and she sang a crooning song in what he thought was French.

With his eyes still closed, Bog smiled. He temporarily allowed himself to feel everything Marianne incited in his chest, unwilling to push the emotions away. He couldn’t deny the draw he felt towards the vampire anymore, as strange and unsettling as it was.

Marianne’s song lulled him to sleep, and the world faded to black, before shifting again to a dream.

A dream that was not a dream. A dream that was a memory.

An unknown amount of time later, Bog woke again. The storm had let off, changing its nature to a steady, gentle flow of rain. Marianne was curled at his side, an arm and a leg wrapped around him possessively. Her peaceful, relaxed face made his heart do little jumps and twirls between his ribs. Bog lifted a hand to stroke a lock of her now dry, but wild, hair out of her eyes. At the small touch, she smiled a gut-wrenchingly sweet smile, still deeply asleep.

Her unguarded smile almost broke his heart in two.

There was no way to continue this strange relationship. As strongly as he felt, Bog saw no way to ever have a long term attachment to a vampire. It simply would never work. His responsibilities and feelings always clashed together, causing more trouble than good. This new passion would end the same as it had before, and that was too dangerous to allow.

Secretly, in a small, dark corner of his mind, he thought it was also better to break it off himself, rather than wait for Marianne to do the deed. And she would, eventually. She would get bored with him and move on to another toy to play with.

And where would that leave Bog, then?

But as he watched Marianne, her eyes moving rapidly under her closed lids, soft, fragrant breath blowing between her plush lips, Bog didn’t know if he had the strength to do what he knew had to be done.

The Lamia squeezed her way into his very soul, somehow. He hardly knew anything about her, and already, she grasped it with her two small, incredibly strong hands. Took him into her, in turn.

Sighing, Bog closed his eyes again, turning his face away. He didn’t want to think it was a mistake to have done what he did with her. But, looking at Marianne was fast becoming too painful, knowing the heartbreak and pain he surely faced. She would leave, or he would make her go, and then Bog would be alone again.

As he should be.

~~~~~~

Morning broke, piercing the slate grey sky with watery sunshine. After the conclave event, Dawn waited for Marianne to return home when the storm started.

She sat in her room, the Halloween costumes, decorations, and other organizational activities covered every surface. Dawn hummed happily to herself, eager to finally, officially, meet the people of Faewood.

Rumours of a town that welcomed supernaturals were whispered and spoken in hushed tones. No one seemed to know exactly where the place was, until Dawn herself passed inadvertently through the Faewood one day.

She had driven through the town, searching for a place to eat when a small antique store caught her eye.

As an avid fan of olden-day furniture, jewellery and other trinkets that seemed to have only existed in the past, Dawn could never pass such a shop.

She spent two hours wandering the large space, oohing and ahhing whenever she discovered another hidden corner with knickknacks and gizmos. Instantly taking to the shopkeeper—a fae called Pruna Lavenderis, a pretty woman that looked to be in her thirties, with delicate elfin features, long, pointed ears she left on display and pale blue hair that wafted around her head in a fluffy hairdo. After a few tries to overcome the natural politeness she was raised with, Dawn braved the outright question.

“Are you… Pruna, are you…” Despite her conviction to spit the question out, Dawn’s words failed her.

Luckily, Pruna was not a shy woman.

“Fae?” she completed Dawn’s open-ended question with a laugh, showing off the tiny points to her teeth. “Yes, sweetie. I’m fae.”

Relieved to be right, Dawn smiled delightedly. “I’m Lamia!” she announced.

“Oh, are you now?” Pruna said, a Mona-Lisa smile spreading on her bluish lips.

“Yeah! Sunlight Lamia,” Dawn blabbed, excited to meet another supernatural so casually. With an impatient air, she peered out of the large display window that looked out to the street, wondering who else like them may live in the town.

“Honey, you are in Faewood. This town is full of people like us!” said Pruna, mysteriously answering Dawn’s unasked question, and turned to tidy away the 19th century rings Dawn had been browsing.

“What?” she boggled. “Are you serious?”

“Dawn… It’s Dawn, right? Dawn, it’s in the name.” Pruna lifted a pencilled eyebrow, pointing out the obvious.

Beaming, Dawn grilled Pruna for all the information she would give, and even ended up staying the night in a local bed and breakfast called Moonrise Inn.

By the following day, Dawn had fallen in love with the place. Its charming, tree-lined roads, locally-owned stores and friendly people. The town in fall was lovely—the large maple, beech and birch tree lining the boulevards and avenues became all shades of yellow and red and orange, the fiery colours capturing the sunlight with a colourful glow.

Best of all were the townsfolk. A quick wander around led her to find three kinds of shape-shifters, four types of fae, and no less than ten witches—all walking around with their supernatural markers blatant and unafraid, not a hint of Glamour in sight. 

Ecstatic she finally found the mysterious town they have heard about for the past few decades, Dawn rose early after her stay in the Moonrise to return home with the happy news.

Her father agreed to think about moving, but no more than a week after Dawn’s discovery, Marianne broke her wedding plans, left her fiancé under unknown circumstances, and disappeared without a trace for five whole days.

When she returned, Dawn’s older sister was covered in filth, looking as though she spent the entire time outdoors. Her hip-length hair so tangled with branches, sap and other inexplicable substances that the younger Lamia almost despaired at the sight.

Dawn led a subdued Marianne to the bathtub, to wash her carefully, using a soft flannel rag and lavender soap to wipe the sticky materials off the smooth, unblemished skin. She tutted at the state of Marianne’s hair and brought out a bottle of jojoba oil and her best brush with the intention of detangling it.

Marianne grabbed the brush from Dawn’s hand and only said in a hoarse, unused voice, “Cut it off.”

Surprised, Dawn didn’t answer for a few seconds, searching for words. “All of it?” she whispered.

“Up to my neck,” replied Marianne tunelessly.

And so she did as her sister asked.

The next day, Marianne convinced their father to move to Faewood. She has already found an old mansion house that would be perfect for their needs, a crew to renovate the old place, and contacted the real estate agent that put it on sale. She didn’t relent until she got him to agree. It took almost a year for the construction to be done, as the winter snows lingered well into Spring, but finally, they moved late September, and Dawn couldn’t have been happier.

With five days left for the party, Dawn has almost no time at all to spare. She had single-handedly created the decorations, prepared costumes, and spent the long hours of the day holed up in her room. With the coming of the council, Dagda deemed it no longer appropriate to have her impromptu workshop in the dining room,

and she was forced to move everything upstairs.

None too deterred, Dawn cheerfully collected her things with Marianne’s help, setting it all up, along with an extra table for the excesses.

Breakfast came and went, and still, no Marianne.

Dawn began to worry as she ate her scrambled eggs, watching the others mill around and settle into their quiet, daytime activities. With the last time her sister vanished still fresh in her mind as she saw Roland look to the kitchen’s door, waiting for Marianne, she rose from her seat, decided.

A few minutes later, Dawn was out in her wellington rain boots, and with a burst of speed, she followed the faint remnant of scent Marianne left behind.

The rain washed most of it away, but Dawn could at least tell her older sister went downhill, in the direction of the forest.

Pruna had warned Dawn not to enter the forest. It belonged to an old family, supposedly the protectors of Faewood and its residents.

“But, pshaw, he’s a grouchy old bastard, anyway. I doubt you could do much that would make him either better or worse,” said the fae-woman. She smirked with another of her knowing smiles, and wouldn’t answer any more of Dawn’s questions.

A run along the border of the woods told Dawn Marianne had not entered it, until she reached the spot the trail ended.

A large sycamore had her sister’s, and another stranger’s, scent all of over it. Seriously worried now, Dawn looked all around for clues for her whereabouts. Contemplating the risk of trespassing versus doing it for her sister’s sake, Dawn took a step over the invisible line.

~~~~~

Laying next to Bog was like laying on an electric blanket. He expelled so much heat that it surprised Marianne she didn’t sweat.

But, to her wonderment, the temperature was perfectly regulated. Bog was as warm as he needed to be—no more and no less. The down-filled duvet covering her was more for modesty sake than warmth. Not that she had anything to hide, really. The human beside her had seen all of her body, and more. Nor did the cold harm her, though warmth was physically more pleasant, in any case.

Bog’s own brand of heat was even more pleasant than any kind of manufactured or artificial heat, comparable only to the vital ardour of the sun. Sleeping—and dreaming—did not come to Lamia’s easily, but next to Bog, it was scary how simple it was for Marianne to close her eyes and surrender to his calming presence. The tight knot in her chest relaxed and went limp, allowing dreams to enter freely.

Spirited away from the world of the awake, Marianne sank into oblivion. Sweet visions of soul-deep fervour soaked her mind. Bog was there, almost close enough to touch. The distance was at times frustrating, but Marianne took the challenge with good fun, chasing him down.

In her dream, Bog was faster than any human had a right to be. He ran with his long legs, bounding up and down the hills around the town, wearing nothing more than simple black shorts. Marianne could move faster, but he pushed with his bare feet hard on the grassy slopes, propelling himself further. Always ahead, she could only see his backside, her hand reaching to him. At first, she laughed delightedly, hearing the rumbly tone of his responding guffaw.

At one point, Marianne just nearly managed to touch his back. Solid, broad and uncovered, his toned muscles shifting smoothly over his shoulder-blades, he pressed harder, became faster. 

But, determined, Marianne forced her legs to all but vanish in their speed, pumping faster than she ever had before. The chase became urgent, meaning something more than a simple game. Finally, the tips of her fingers made contact with the sweat-slicked skin of Bog’s back. He turned his head, still running, and she saw fear in his beautiful blue eyes.

Fear... And disgust.

The dream turned cold and dark. From the sunny, open field they played in before, Marianne found herself weaving between the closely growing trees of the nearby forest. Bog’s skin glowed in the darkness, a beacon calling her.

But no longer was he laughing. His breaths came short and tense, the little of his voice she heard was choked.

From a game of chase, it changed into a hunt.

With a hiss, Marianne jumped in the air, leaping and pouncing on Bog’s back, knocking him down. He twisted under her, ending up with his back to the soft bed of fallen leaf and peat that lined the woods’ floor.

Terrified, he held his arms out, trying to block the huntress from her killing blow.

Marianne opened her mouth wide, letting the hidden pocket to where the fangs retreated to shrink, pushing the needle pointed canines out in a smooth flick.

Going for his throat, she lunged.

.

.

Marianne woke up the instant before she bit down on Bog’s neck. Daylight streamed from the small window across the loft. Grey and weak, but day nevertheless. She was naked and shivering under the bedspread, and for the first time in her life, she really felt the cold.

Bog had gone while she slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only say—I only wrote it I did NOT decide it >.>
> 
> Take it up with the idiot lol


	6. This Thing In My Chest

“B—”

Whatever Griselda was about to say halted in her mouth as she took in her son. He wore only boxers and a ripped shirt and had mud streaks all over his body as if he rolled in the stuff like a pig.

He knew he was in a state of dishevelment she hadn’t seen in decades, but the open-mouthed shock was a little extreme. It wasn’t that unheard of for Bog to roam around in the rain and get a bit dirty.

“Wha…?” She tried again, but the air in his mother’s lungs ran out before a single word was even out.

He was a grown-ass man, and if he wanted to parade around half-naked in a storm, he could damn well do as he pleased—but why was she still staring like that? 

Then, to his dawning horror, Bog saw her nostrils flare as she inhaled, taking in his scent, and everything else that must have still clung to him.

_Uh oh._

“I’m going to shower,” he muttered, stepping around Griselda warily as she slowly spun in place, following him with her eyes as he tracked wet footprints and dry mud that crumbled off his skin with every step.

An hour later found Bog—clean and dressed in fresh shirt and jeans—sitting on his bed, holding his head in his hands. He had been fighting himself for the majority of that time, logic and instinct battling. The desperate need to go back to see Marianne hit him like some inevitable natural disaster. A tsunami with a wicked smile crashing into his carefully constructed buildings, reshaping the map of his heart. The moon pulling on the sea with soft hands, forcing it back or forward, helpless in the face of its gravity. A tornado of silky brown hair dragging against a tree, heedless of its roots. No image was strong enough, or chaotic enough, to truly encapsulate how Marianne the vampire made him feel.

Total loss of control led to the events of the night before. But even now, Bog saw the sky lighten from under his raised hands, and still, the rush returned. The dry heat rose from deep within his bones. The one night was not enough--his body craved more.

Was she still asleep? What would she think, to wake and find him gone? If he went back, would she still be there? Was there a way, any goddamn way, to make it work?

Groaning out loud, Bog rubbed his hands over his face, tempted to slap himself back to his usual sensible self. If he thought it had a chance to work, he would have done it.

But no. With claws and fangs, Marianne clung unto the wildly beating thing in his chest. She’d left her mark, and now Bog was stuck with the thing she defaced with her little handprints all over it.

_What am I going to do?_

——————

_Fool. Idiot. Stupid. Reckless. Jackass._

Marianne wasn’t sure to whom she was referring to with a string of insults coursing through her head, sitting as she was on the loft’s bed, drawing angrily in her sketchbook. Whether she had Bog in mind—either for his cowardice when faced with clear daylight or the fact he had taken advantage of her—or perhaps she was cursing herself, because deep down she knew she had taken advantage of him, just as much as he had of her. She couldn’t blame Bog for going, since he made no promises to stay.

The day before Marianne spent in the outdoors, soothing some of her inner turmoil. But seeing Roland, then what he had done in her room, made all the painstakingly gathered cool flee in a flood of rage.

On every available surface, there had been flowers.

Yellow buttercups, red roses, orange carnations, purple violets, all in crystal vases, turning the room into a floral shop.

Roland had wisely made himself scarce when he heard her scream, but when Marianne stomped downstairs, she was confronted with her father’s stern and disapproving frown.

At the sight of Dagda’s thin-lipped scowl, Marianne deflated. She returned to the bedroom almost meekly and started a fire in her brick fireplace. It took time to toss all the blooms into the flames, but before long, they were nothing but ashes.

Satisfied with the day’s work, and hearing the conclave come into session, she set to change the ashy and smokey clothes she had on and got ready for bed.

A book in hand, Marianne snuggled down, her thoughts straying to Bog as she read of the war hero in the story. Absentmindedly, she ran the edge of a nail on her bottom lip, imagining impossible things.

“Marianne?”

Scoffing, Marianne grabbed the nearest item, which happened to be a fire starter on her bedside table and flung it on the heavy wooden door of her room.

“You’ll go away if you know what’s good for you, Roland,” she called when the metal item hit the door with a clang, falling to the floor and skidding along the hardwood planks.

“I just wanted to know how you liked the flowers.”

“I liked them great…” she said, then added louder, “as kindle!”

“Babyfangs, just talk to me. I’ll explain everything—” Roland didn’t have a chance to continue. In less than a heartbeat, Marianne unlocked and opened the door baring her teeth in a full display of threat.

“Take the hint, _babyfangs_ , and leave before I make you. I may get cast out for it, but it’s a better life than the misery of having you here.”

He frowned, but for a change, he didn’t quail. “I have all the time in the world to make you change your mind, Marianne,” he said ominously.” You’ll see what I mean soon enough. I promise you.”

Then he left, gone to the social part of the meeting in the study.

Unsettled, Marianne took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes. She didn’t like the determined look on Roland’s face. She didn’t like it one little bit.

Shortly after, she snuck past the study to escape the house, where she met Bog. Where they did something a little bit different than simple love-making. More primal and carnal and desperate.

She knew her reasons for the lapse in self-control. But what could have made Bog change his low opinion on vampires all of a sudden?

——————-

The forest’s birds twittered gently, and Dawn took in the beautiful surroundings in awed silence. There were not many wild places left in the world, where no human had ever set foot on them, and animals did not know the sound of man.

But these woods were one of those unique places, pulling Dawn deeper into the heart of the forest.

Despite her worry for Marianne, all thoughts of her sister faded to background noise, engrossed as she was by the sights, walking soundlessly on the thick, mushy peat of the floor. Before long, she reached a small clearing. A still smoking tree was at its centre. It appeared to have been dead long before the lightning struck it, but now it had burnt—its remaining limbs split and torn to pieces.

Dawn got closer to it, holding a hand out to test the heat coming off the exploded tree. Warm, but no longer burning. Soon after discovering the tree, the natural noises of the forest were disturbed by a low keening whine. There was an animal in pain. With her heart in her throat, Dawn went searching for it. The poor thing might have been very distressed, to make such a heartbreaking whimper.

It took some time since the animal had not uttered another sound since the initial one and the acrid burnt smell coming off the tree masked everything else. Dawn looked thoroughly around the clearing, crawled under bushes, lifted heavy branches for the better part of an hour. She was about to give up when she turned to the burned tree again, determined to look one last time for whatever made that sound.

Something about that soft cry called to Dawn—she just had to find it.

The tree had practically imploded when the lightning struck. Beyond the charred remains of the trunk, with all its naked limbs, it was almost impossible to tell what kind of tree it once was. In any case, it was relatively low and wide, the broken branches extending at least twelve feet on all sides of the source. One side had remained standing, supporting the only part that had not been burnt and broken.

Dawn’s ears pricked when suddenly the whine returned. Much closer, much deeper and much more growly than she expected. She kneeled, uncaring of the delicate silk material of her dress trailing in the dirt.

At last, semi-buried under a pile of branches, the lower half of its body sunken into the forest floor, was a small bear.

It was filthy, covered in bits of leaves and mud and dirt, and even with the tree so close by, Dawn smelled the copper scent of fresh blood when the bear moved.

It whimpered and cringed away from her hands, as though afraid.

Spotting the curved, wicked-looking claws and massive flat paws, Dawn wisely chose to not corner it.

“It’s okay, little bear. You can trust me,” she said, crouching just beyond the bear’s reach. “I only want to help.”

With soothing murmurs and slowly reaching hands, Dawn managed to scoot close enough to the bear and stroke it on the head. He made a pained happy whine at the attention, and while he wasn’t looking, Dawn clawed at the soil trapping him.

When he was released, the little bear tried to stand on his hind feet—the top of its head reaching up to Dawn’s waist—but fell before he stood for more than a few seconds. Through the matted fur, she could tell he had an inky black coat with a perfect circle of golden fur on his chest, like a bright sun, matching the colours spread across the muzzle and around his eyes.

She couldn’t have said how she knew it was male, but something told her she was correct.

The scent of blood grew stronger, and alarmed, Dawn saw the trickle of red from the little bear’s leg, slowly dripping down.

“Oh, no!” She wrung her hands together, her short blonde hair waving in concern. “I need to bring you home now!” Coming down to one knee in front of him, she spoke as though she was talking to a person, hoping he would understand. “I’m going to carry you,” she explained slowly. “Please don’t bite me or claw me—I like this dress, and I can wash away the stains, but ripping it would destroy it.” Dawn waited for any confirmation, but the bear only looked confused. “I’ll take that as an okay!”

In a slow, deliberate motion, Dawn picked the bear under the arms like a child, and slung him, front to front, around her waist. The little bear’s weight was nothing for a Lamia like her—her only concern was keeping him either wriggling or falling as she ran.

The bear leaned his muzzle over her shoulder, a soft sigh rumbled in his chest.

“I’ll take care of you, little Sunnybear.”

——————

“Talk.”

“No.”

“Talk to me, Son.”

“I won’t.”

“ _Now_.”

Bog groaned, pushing his plate away and dropping his head in a thump on the kitchen table. “Why must ye pester me, mother?” he said plaintively, uncaring of how childish it sounded. “Have I not enough of that in my life with ye piling more on top?”

“Dearie, I haven’t even brought out the shovel, yet.” Griselda huffed. “Get talking, or I’ll ground you.”

At that, he straightened alarmed. “Ye can’t do that.”

“Oh, and who is going to stop me?” She crossed her arms, lifting an eyebrow.

“I’m needed, Mam. Ye can’t keep me in the house all day!” Bog got to his feet, slowly retreating from his mother, his thoughts on sneaking out before she could ward the house.

“Pfft. They will do _fine_ without you for a few days. They all know the drill.” Griselda lifted a hand from her chest and snapped her fingers once, the sharp noise echoing. The house shut down, all locks in every externally facing door and window turned, securing it all down.

“ _No_!” Bog ran to the front door, useless turning the knob. Cornered, he turned, back to the door, to face Griselda again. “Let me go, Mam. There are vampires around, and I have to make sure people are safe,” he said reasonably, attempting to throw her off with logic.

“That’s your own subjective view, Bog. We had a meeting about the Lamia before they came. We all agreed. You know this. You petitioned against it most passionately, if I may recall,” Griselda said coolly, examining her fingernails.

“Who knows what they are up to!” Bog raised his voice. The last thing he wanted to do was to talk about the people in that accursed house, lest he betrayed signs of anything other than hatred. “They could be out there killing people right now!”

“To be completely frank, Bog, I don’t care. I want ten minutes with my son, and if this is what I have to do, then this is what I shall do.” Griselda’s hair crackled with static, and the lights in the nearby sconces and lamps flickered with the overcharge of electricity.

“I… There’s nothing to say.” Bog rose to his full height, towering over the shorter woman. Witch or no, she wouldn’t be able to contain him for longer a few minutes, if he chose to go all out.

Of course, it meant the house would be destroyed, but Bog was not totally against that idea.

“Tell me where you’ve gone to last night.” Along the strands of Griselda’s hair ran blue lightning.

“I...” Panicked, Bog looked around, hoping an exit would magically manifest. “I can’t.”

His mother frowned. “Why?”

“I was alone, in the forest! I went for a run.”

“Bog, you are but a boy if you think for one second I am stupid enough to believe that lie.” Griselda shook her head. “Who is she?”

He winced as though the question hurt. “There was no one.”

“I want to know who finally caught my son’s eye, and where I’ll be expecting grandchildren from,” she said, her lips pulling into a wide-mouthed grin. “So tell me. Who is the lucky lady?”

“There is no lady!” Bog shouted, getting fed up. He’d had just about enough of this persistent inquisition.

“Oh, she doesn’t have to be a lady, she can be just about anything! A troll, a goblin, even a vampire!” Griselda laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something? If you fell in love with a vampire?” She continued her musing, giggling to herself, completely unaware of the blood draining out of Bog’s face. “You know, like P—”

“Stop it.” Laying his hand over his mother’s mouth to silence her, Bog narrowed his eyes. “Unward the house before I break it, Mother.”

The walls began shaking. Glasses tinkled in the cabinets, plates rattled, and from the upstairs thud after thud of falling things could be heard.

She scowled, but with her mouth still muffled, she couldn’t speak.

“Now,” he growled, then softened his voice. Bog loved his mother, intervening and nosy as she was. “ _Please_.”

Griselda’s eyes widened at the sudden change in tone. With her eyes beginning to well with tears, she snapped her fingers again, releasing her hold over the barriers around the old family home.

Before she could say another word, Bog was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bear is a Sunbear—credit to ShivaeSkye for the brilliant idea! They are adorable and the smallest bear species 🥴😏 I thought it was rather funny, in any case. 
> 
> I wanna hear your theories! Where is this going? And holy shit there’s an actual plot here? Who could have known?!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens.

Eventually, Marianne decided it was time to return home, and she did so only when the hunger pangs irritated her enough to search for food.

She grumbled to herself, wrapped up in the loft's blanket, and made her way down the ladder slowly. The cold she felt when she woke faded, and with enough time, she reverted back to her standard tolerance of the unfamiliar sensation.

The cold was not something she lingered in her thoughts on, not something she ever felt or ever wanted to feel again. It was a fluke, a freak accident. It definitely didn't have anything to do with the living fire that was Bog. And also, by the way, even if it had, which it didn't, it didn't matter anyway. 

Bog left, and that was his choice to go, and whatever…feelings… he inspired within Marianne would surely fade too, given time.

Pausing at the door to the barn, she gazed expressionlessly at the dried puddle on the floor, where they… had relations, which was a more refined way of saying screwed like rabbits.

It didn't matter how mind-blowing the sex was. It _didn't_.

Refusing to call it the Walk Of Shame, Marianne held her head high as she stepped through the threshold. She blurred upstairs, hoping to meet no one on the way. Any council members catching her in her current state of dishevelment would be bad for their father. Fortunately, it was day, and they would all be in their guest rooms, passing the time with their various activities.

Blessedly, her room had nothing—no flowers or surprises anything even similar, thank the heavens. She made quick work of stuffing the now crusty blanket into the washing basket and padded naked to the inner door of the bathroom she shared with Dawn. Even if her sister was there, she had no reason to be shy.

"Hey, Dawn, are you he—"

The rest of her words perished on her tongue. Dawn—usually so carefully immaculate and tidy, a picture of elegance and fashion—was kneeling on the floor, her dress muddy and stained with patches of dried blood over the delicate material.

Most unexpected and shocking of all, there was a bear in the burgundy claw foot tub.

A real-life bear, which took one look at Marianne, then averted his eyes as if the sight of her naked body offended him.

"You're home!" Dawn said grinning. "I was really worried!"

Marianne let out a loud yelp and grabbed a nearby towel to cover herself with. "Why have you got a boy in the bathroom, Dawn?!"

"A boy? It's just Sunnybear!" she laughed, glancing at the bear and back to her sister.

"That's not a bear!" Marianne pointed a sharp nail at the bear's direction.

Dawn looked confused, her head tilted, and she sat back on her haunches, the loofa in her hands dripping in her lap. "What are you talking about?"

"That's not a bear! That's a Shifter!"

Slowly, realization broke across Dawn's doll-like features. She turned, her eyes narrowing, to find the bear in the tub had become a very naked, very wet, and very red young man.

He waved meekly, his longish black hair plastered to his head and face. The Shifter let out a breathy, nervous sort of giggle. "Hi."

***

With the fast-approaching evening, a dense fog rolled into the town. All over, flashing signs lit up the roads, marking the edges and alerting the drivers and pedestrians alike about the road's dangers under such low visibility. There were at least five different near car-accidents, but eventually, traffic died down. People stayed home to avoid the fog. The town settled into the sudden phenomena. As it usually did.

Bog wandered around the streets, cutting his way through the grounded cloud like a knife into soft butter. His tall, imposing figure loomed like a shadow in the steadily growing darkness. He stopped for nothing, spoken to no one, gone nowhere, and roamed his hometown like the wolves that prowled the surrounding forest.

No matter how hard he pushed his feet into the ground, or how fast he shuffled his legs, no matter how many time he raked his hands through his hair, or shrugged his shoulders, or cleared his throat or wrung his hands…

…He could not run away. Marianne followed where ever he went.

He walked in circles since each pass around town would take him back he came from, the same direction every opening in the fog seemed to lead him to.

But _no_. Bog's willpower was stronger than his heart and body. Logic and sensibility will have dominion over the flesh, and he will not, let him repeat it again, he _will not_ find his way back to the Lamia House, where he will break down the door to enter, push all the other vampires out of the way, use his nose to track her down to her bedroom and fuck her until neither of them is conscious.

And yet, despite every resolve he made to himself, here he was again. Standing by the metal gate. Staring upwards into the windows of the unknown rooms wherein one, Marianne must be.

Something like a whine rose up to his throat, longing beyond the carnal desire to make the vampire his forming in him. She was… something _more_ , something _different_ than Bog expected. Her personality captured his full attention, and he found himself hanging on to her every word, every flick of her eyebrow, every toss of her hands in the air.

Bog's mother couldn't have been right, though. He wasn't… hasn't…. _fallen in love._

This thing was purely physical—the need to mate or to create a new life or to simply reduce decades of frustration from him. Bog couldn't allow it to become emotional. Not any kind of lasting emotion, anyway.

But the longer he waited, the more his body took dirtier means to spur him in the direction it craved. As though a mind separate to him, Bog's heart began to beat painfully hard in his chest, demanding audience.

_When did I become so goddamned broken that each piece of me suddenly has its own wants and agendas? This seems so wrong._

Nevertheless, Bog stood outside her home, hoping she would see him there. Praying he could walk away. Wishing for his body to cool down and his brain to stop sending all sort of strange signals that led to an almost constant elevated blood pressure in his veins.

Something, anything, had to be listening, and Bog wanted for almost nothing more than some divine help since it seemed like he couldn't do it alone.

***

"I know I should be mad right now, but you're too cute." In her everlasting tolerating patience, Dawn didn't even scream at the sight of the animal she'd helped turning into a man. She frowned and looked down, to where he curled in an attempt to keep his modesty.

The Shifter's startled squeak echoed between the pink tiled walls of the bathroom after Dawn reached down to grasp his leg, stretching it out by force. He cupped his privates quickly, and Marianne took the few steps closer in a blur, whether to pull her sister away or to throw the naked man out of the window, her intent was unclear. When she had a look at the extended black and blue bruises, scrapes and red marks that covered his lower body, along with a long, jagged cut that ran from his left thigh, around to his calf that was slowly seeping blood, she understood Dawn's worry.

"Damn," was all she said, examining the injuries.

"Yes, that's why I brought Sunnybear home," Dawn sighed, ignoring the blushing nude Shifter, her eyes on the cut.

"That needs stitches, Dawn." Marianne turned away, reaching for the standing bathroom cabinet to grab the first aid kit.

After centuries of accidents, cuts, bruises and all manner of injuries that could befall humans and other more delicate life forms, Dawn and her family had all gotten their medical training done. Each was qualified in just about all basic necessities for treating a cut like the Shifter had.

"Uh…" he began, looking almost panicked between the sisters.

"Shut up, you," Marianne growled at him. "You tricked my sister. I'll fix you up, then I want you gone on your merry little way." Marianne lifted a hand out of the medical supply box and twitched her fingers in the direction of the window, making Sunnybear wince.

"Marianne, he could hurt himself out there!" Dawn rose to her feet in one fluid motion, coming to stand in front of him. She was the one to have found the bear, and so she would be the one to decide what happens to him. "He's mine, and I'm not letting him go."

" Er…" the Shifter tried again, lifting a hand up.

"Stay out of it!" Both of the Lamia sisters turned to him sharply, and he flinched back. Marianne with her fangs out, Dawn with a concerned frown on her face.

"Be sensible!" said the older sister. "You don't know where he's been!" Marianne gestured wildly with one hand after setting the first aid kit down on the counter, the other clutching the towel so it wouldn't fall.

"Oh?" Dawn narrowed her eyes dangerously, her hands rising to settle on her hips. She looked Marianne up and down slowly, taking in the streaks of mud over her sister's naked skin, and finished the scan with a deep inhalation, breathing in every particular of scent that clung to her skin." I don't know where you've been last night, but I can take a guess if you want me to!"

Baulking at Dawn's words, Marianne took a step back, turning her face away.

Dawn instantly regretted what she'd said. Clearly, her sister was going through something. Perhaps finally moving on, if the scents were correct. She didn't wish to ruin it for her, but whenever Marianne took that bossy tone, she couldn't help it.

In any case, Dawn wasn't about to let Sunnybear go without being adequately treated. Something about him, bear or man, made her want to help him and keep him, as long as he was willing.

"I'm sorry, Marianne…" Dawn started to say, but Marianne cut her off.

"I'll clean up in the other bathroom. Dawn, you can have this one for yourself."

With that, she walked back to her room, closing the door gently behind her, all without looking at Dawn even once.

***

"Good afternoon, Roland," Dagda greeted the other man, gesturing to a seat opposite his beside the fireplace. The other entered the room and took it, smiling pleasantly and running a hand over the front of his pristine white cable-knit sweater.

They were in the study, some hours before sundown and the beginning of the third conclave meeting. Dagda had decided to have a talk with Roland, clear the air between them and find out what happened with his daughter—a woman that was responsible, mature and in any other way reliable—to behave as if she was in her first life cycle.

To any who saw them, Marianne and Roland were the perfect couple. A Sunlight Lamia with a Twilight Lamia was a common union for their kind—the two were not so different in their biologies. Sure, Twilight needed more animal protein and some liquid blood, but otherwise, they could tolerate the dusk and dawn times, in some cases even nourish on it, like the Sunlight do.

Marianne had taken her time, spent a good few years with the man before agreeing to marriage. After all the effort she had invested into Roland, it seemed almost wasteful to give up on the closest thing she'd found to a long-time partner.

And now, it appeared as though giving up on her relationship with Roland, she had given up on love and life itself—shutting herself away in books or training, honing skills that she may never need. Dagda felt sorrow in his heart at the prospect of his eldest daughter, so alone after all she sacrificed for him and their family.

In truth, he had tried to tell his daughters to go into the world and find their path in it, unlike the others of their kind, albeit reluctantly. Typical Lamia families stayed together in their units, remaining close with many in the same household, just like Dagda's. However, he could see that neither girl was genuinely content and fulfilled within the Lamia communities and cities, and the pain that wrecked him after his wife's death struck him again. They were unhappy, and it was his fault. They stayed for his sake, bearing responsibilities they should not have had to so soon, for him.

And so, with the determination that he would do absolutely anything it took for his daughter to shine as bright as the sun on which they all relied upon, he took on the task of figuring out what happened, and what he could do to fix it.

"Good afternoon, Elder Dagda," Roland bent slightly at the waist and bowed his head in respect.

"Oh, no need to be so formal. You know you may call me Dagda."

The blond Lamia raised his head, green eyes gleaming with a Cheshire smile. "Well, I was not sure what I was summoned for, you see."

"Roland, I've known you for quite a while, haven't I?" Dagda steepled his hands over his portly belly, gazing at the other intently.

"Yes, you have." Roland nodded his head.

"And would you say I know you well?"

"I believe so, sir."

"I would like to know what happened between you and my daughter." Dagda leaned his head back, half closing his eyes.

"Well, Marianne and I had a big misunderstanding, you see…" Roland began and didn't stop for a good long while. By the time he finished, a tale of a confused meeting, dramatic exits and ferocious threats had been spun.

Frankly, Dagda was baffled. Marianne may be a… _unique_ … girl, but she didn't lack in sensibilities. Roland had painted a very odd picture—one where Marianne was hysterical and completely unreasonable, while he, Roland, was an innocent victim of her irrational wrath.

This did not sit well with Dagda. While he didn't witness her return, he heard from Dawn a little of Marianne's state after vanishing. His youngest daughter had remained faithful to her sister, revealing almost nothing in terms of details. She merely stated to Dagda that Marianne was going through a hard time and he needed to be considerate of her feelings.

It was the look Marianne gave Dagda that made him finally agree to the move. He was initially reluctant and uneasy to leave their previous community's safety, finding comfort in the sheer number of their kind.

But… Marianne had a look in her eye of a hunted animal, someone trapped in a nightmare. She did not beg him to move, and presented her reasoning rationally and calmly, even if she was unrelenting.

Like a dog with a bone, her constant research facts about Faewood, her complete refusal to leave the house, and the sad, empathetic glances Dawn had thrown her way were the final reasons that settled the Elder.

And still.

The niggling doubt remained. What if Dagda was biased about his daughter? What if his views were subjective to what he had come to expect from her, and in reality, she was not quite what he imagined?

After all, she chose Roland and agreed to marry him—an intense bond among the Lamia, which involved lifelong attachment to a partner and a blood exchange. Marriage was not to be taken lightly, in their world.

Sighing, Dagda leaned forward as far as he could to rest his elbows on his knees, feeling incredibly tired. Being a Cardinal Elder was not an easy task, and for Dagda, it was worse than the others.

"I have to consider your story, Roland, but I want to help you." _I want Marianne to be happy again_. Dagda met Roland's eyes, uneasy but determined to push through for Marianne's sake. "We can meet again tomorrow when I've had time to think about what we can do."

At the mention of ' _we_ ,' Roland's smile blazed brighter, and he nodded his head eagerly, accepting the dismissal by rising to his feet. "I'll be around later for the gathering. Hopefully, I'll get to have a little chat with my buttercup before, too."

At the suggestive wink the younger Lamia gave, Dagda's uneasiness doubled, and he already regretted his admittance to wanting to help Roland.

_Oh, Fiona… You left me with our daughters… How can I do right by them, now? How do I do this without you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >.>
> 
> Tell me your thoughts !! I’d love to hear theories and comments!!!


	8. Those Who Wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog can't make up his mind, and Marianne can't seem to get him off hers.  
> Dawn and Sunny are adorable!

After circling the Lamia House silently for longer than he cared to admit, pacing and wondering whether Marianne would come out as she said she would during the day, Bog was just about to lose his mind.

With a deep groan that held back a frustrated shout, he clenched his hands, nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

As if the prickles of pain were a breath of fresh air, Bog became aware of what he had done and where he stood, making himself into the equivalent of a steaming plate of steak and fries. He snapped out of the confused and frustrated mood he had been in, blinking in the fog around him, disoriented and agitated.

He looked at his hands, where little crescent-shaped cuts bled in tiny streams to pool in his cupped palms. Bog's body was wound so tight he was liable to explode if anything so much as looked funny to him.

He was a danger—to himself _and_ to others.

_This isn't me. What am I even doing here? What's happening to me?_

A sigh slipped out of his mouth. Dusk had almost fallen, and Marianne hadn't come out all day. She probably saw him from her window. She likely watched him right now. For all Bog knew, Marianne stood mere feet away from him at that very moment, masked from his senses by layers of stone wood and plaster.

She could be laughing at him.

The abrupt thought washed over him like a tidal wave of irrational rage made of razor blades, cutting him on the inside. Snarling, Bog grasped the bars over the gate one more time, smearing his blood over them. The metal bit into his stinging palm, squeaking as it bent from his grip, marked now with the bloody print of his fisted hands. In the distance, a cloud swirled, forming a vortex. 

He would not be made into a fool again.

***

Washed, clean and dressed in a soft cotton loungewear pants and top, Marianne laid on her bed. She was the wrong way around, on her front. Her socked feet bounced on her pillow with a series of monotone thuds while she played with the fringed blanket folded on the foot of the iron-wrought canopy bed, her head spinning in manic little circles.

As the day progressed, she found herself—with a faint feeling of embarrassment at the budding obsession—conjuring the night before with Bog, which led her to some curious fantasies, which in turn, had her occupy her time with some self-exploring activities. 

As easy as it was to say it didn't matter that he left, or that he made her feel anything, she knew that it did.

It really, _really_ mattered.

Marianne tried hard not to feel desolation at the prospect of knowing he was close, so close, and so unreachable. There was no way she would throw herself on him, again. Marianne made the first move, and he responded. Mightily well, if she may add, but it was a hot, passionate night of momentary lapse in judgement for her, and now it seemed like he felt the same way. She could, _would_ have considered changing her mind, had he remained. But he didn't stay, and he snuck out like a coward in the dark while she slept.

Maybe for him, it was nothing more than a one night stand. Perhaps the way his eyes looked down at her with a gleam of genuine, heartfelt tenderness was nothing more than her imagination, her mind filling the gaps to justify her irrational sentiments.

Love was for fools. It was for people that wanted to get hurt and suffer and feel sorrow. Her sister had such fanciful ideas of love and romance that these days caused Marianne to gag.

Dawn had always been a flirty butterfly of a Lamia. She would flutter from boy to boy, human or inhuman alike, never settling on any for longer than a second. It always seemed like she wanted to test them and see which flower she wanted to make her home on.

Even centuries later, she never gave up hope. And now, Dawn had a Shifter boy in her clutches, and Marianne feared both for him and her. There was a telltale stars-in-his-eyes expression when Marianne saw the boy look to her sister as she laid Claim to him.

How easy it was for Dawn to simply state her Claim, announce for all the world to hear that this person was hers.

Marianne could do with that kind of courage. She had plenty of the traditional kind, but exposing her heart that way… Making herself vulnerable to another person, one she hardly knew, too. That was too scary to contemplate. She had done it a few times before but was always the one to break it off when she got tired of the men she chose. Roland was the first to get as far as marriage with Marianne, and they didn't even get married. Instead, he tore her heart out. But Bog…

Again, she remembered the way Bog leaned back, letting her to take control, to take _him_ , giving her everything he had to offer. At least then, he didn't hold back. She would have those memories of a more straightforward kind of romance, the only kind she would allow herself.

_Ugh. What's wrong with me? Pining over a man like this…_

Rolling over to lay on her back with a frustrated huff, Marianne trailed a hand over her exposed stomach while blue eyes stared from behind her closed lids, burning hands touched her everywhere, making her skin shudder as if static ran over her over-heated flesh.

This was going to be a problem.

***

"Here. These are my Dad's."

After handing the Shifter an oversized pair of boxer shorts, Dawn turned her back to him, allowing him privacy to dry off and get dressed. 

Unbeknownst to the Shifter, she could still see him, reflected by a second mirror over a vanity table in the corner of the bathroom. Waiting patiently with her hands clasped in front of her, rocking on the balls of her feet, Dawn looked him over.

He got up gingerly, reaching for grasp the edge of the tub with a white-knuckled grip, hissing as he used his injured legs to step out.

The young Shifter was little shorter Dawn's own height. His skin was a lovely shade of golden brown, speckled with light brown freckles over his shoulders and across his broad chest that matched the ones over his nose. He was medium built but toned in just the way Dawn liked.

Biting her lip, careful of her peeking fangs, Dawn glanced lower down and blushed.

Despite all her flirtations, her age, and her medical knowledge, the Lamia was inexperienced in many ways. When you have all the time in the world, you can spare the years until you found the perfect someone. There was no need to rush when one could simply wait.

Dawn felt the blush sink deep into her bones, looking at the man she still mentally referred to as Sunnybear.

They hadn't exchanged many words since Marianne walked out, only a few minutes before. Regretful over the encounter with Marianne, Dawn said nothing for a time, until Sunnybear spoke up.

"I can… just go, you know," he said timidly, and Dawn turned around to face him again. "I didn't mean to trick you. I got banged around and couldn't change back, then you put me in the tub and… I didn't know how to… How to tell you or how to show you—" Sunnybear rushed to explain, stumbling over his words, and stopped only when Dawn put a finger to his soft lips.

"I understand. I did just pick you up and bring you home," she giggled. "It's okay. I'll get you some clothes, then I'll stitch you up. Is that alright?"

Speechless, his cheeks turned a deep shade of red that she could see slowly spreading down his neck and chest. He nodded eagerly, his chocolate brown eyes wide. Under her finger, his mouth began to stretch in an adorable, shy smile.

After making quick work of first numbing the area and then applying perfect stitches that ran down the Shifter's leg, Dawn rubbed disinfectant solution all over and bandaged him up. She snuck him silently into her room, where he was currently sitting up in her bed, watching and chatting while she alternated between fussing over him and working on the Halloween party. 

The Shifter's real name was Alfie. He lived on the other side of town, much closer to the Main Street than the Lamia House, which he said, blushing and looking sheepish, was how everyone was referring to Dawn's home. Smiling at him, Dawn reassured him that it was all right.

Apparently, due to the sun shaped mark he had on his chest, he had been nicknamed Sunny. Pleased with coming up with a name so close to his own, Dawn beamed, more and more delighted with her new friend. Sweet and charming and handsome, Sunnybear—a name she was not at all willing to pass up on—turned out to be a really nice guy. In his mid-twenties he worked in a garage in town, renovating and fixing classic cars and motorbikes.

Dawn could have listened to him all day. He spoke with his hands, which were large, despite his somewhat less than average height, and pleasantly rough and warm. A few times he reached to touch her wrist in passing, the callouses on his fingers and palms leaving tingles in their wake.

"I… should probably go home soon," Sunnybear said, when the light began to fade, his face falling. "My mom would be worried."

"Oh…" Dawn's bubbly mood evaporated at the thought of Sunnybear leaving. She had enjoyed his company more than anyone else other than her sister, and in some ways, even more.

Marianne had always been too protective, intent on keeping Dawn safe—even if it was within a bubble. Doing anything adventurous was a tricky procedure that usually ended with the younger sister found and retrieved home. You'd think Marianne had forgotten just how difficult it is for their kind to be killed; accidentally or intentionally.

"They know I went out last night, but when the s-s-storm hit, I went up the tree to spend the night…" he shivered and looked at Dawn with large puppy dog eyes that made her heart melt in her chest.

"Oh, Sunnybear," she gushed, blurring closer and embracing him tightly. Dawn tenderly held his head, her fingers combing through the silky dark hair that laid in in waves on his head. She pressed him to her chest. "I'll help you get home, but aren't you hurt?"

Sunnybear didn't reply, his arms were like tube socks on the bed where they rested, floppy and loose.

Dawn couldn't see his face, though she did feel his cheeks warm significantly under her hands.

Too late, she realised exactly where she had been pressing Sunnybear's face into. Dawn released the hapless Shifter with a silent giggle, and he swayed in place, a large, beatific smile stretching his lips.

He shook his head a few times, blinking in confusion, and spotting Dawn's self-satisfied smirk, he blushed even darker.

"Ahh…" Sunnybear started, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "About my injuries…"

***

It was high time for Bog to get his shit together.

With a last look in the direction of the Lamia House, he forced himself to walk away despite the sharp pain in his chest that made him feel like a something was opening his ribcage to expose everything within. Such visceral images passed his mind repeatedly while Bog attempted to find words that would explain how it felt like to put distance between him and Marianne.

Within a few minutes, he reached his house and saw his mother at the window, peering out. She gave him a small smile and a wave, which he returned half-heartedly. Griselda lifted a hand, palm up, mouthing "what are you doing?".

Gesturing in the town's direction, Bog wordlessly let her know he was going to the garage. He knew his duty was to watch the vampires, but at that point, he was likely to cause more chaos than order.

He had to give up on her. He had to let Marianne go.

Even though he never consciously decided to pursue her, agony tore through him at the mere thought. All residues of lust vanished to make room for other, more distressing emotions. Longing… Confusion… Anger… The biggest issue was that Bog wasn't sure whether he was angry at Marianne, for being… for being amazing and beautiful and everything he never knew he looked for in a woman and making him feel like he may have a chance if only he could take it, or at himself for either leaving her earlier that morning, or his weakness is letting his control slip in the first place.

He really had made a fool of himself, and he needed no one's help, this time.

The winds had picked up, dragging the fog away. Dry, dead leaves rustled loudly as they flew through Faewood's streets in little swirls and mini whirlwinds. It whistled between the dormant trees, a long moan that spoke to Bog like a friend, telling him of tidings from around the town. A crow cawed, and Bog peered at the bird, watching as others joined the first to form a line, escorting him in his walk.

A straw hat rolled by Bog's feet and he grabbed it before it escaped. On the other side of the street, an old woman with a long, indigo blue woolly coat waved her hand, calling for his attention. Bog obligingly walked over, handing the hat back.

"Thank you, young man," she said, shoving the hat in a large, fabric shopping bag. "Are you doing well this evening?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said absentmindedly, looking away. There were things he needed to be distracted by, engines and equipment that fit together in ways that made sense. A tidy and orderly arrangement of machinery that he could take apart and put together again without any messy feelings involved. 

"You been watching out for those Lamia?"

Startled, Bog turned his gaze back to the older lady.

Mrs. Prudence Glenn. Part fae and part witch, she had a particular _… reputation_ around Faewood. She had also been a friend of his father's mother, many years before.

"I had a dream," Mrs. Glenn announced, musing out loud, not waiting for his reply. Her once shining purple eyes had the beginning of cataracts, her wizened figure stooped. The old woman had leathery, wrinkled skin that stretched and crinkled further with the conversation's progress.

A conversation that became infinitely more interesting, now Bog heard both the words Lamia and dream spoken by the old lady.

"Aye?" he promoted, trying to sound less desperate for any clue that what was happening to him had either an explanation or an ending in sight.

_But do I really want it to end? Did it not feel good to be with her? Lay with her, talk to her, play with her hair, feel her body next to mine…_

And just like that, the pull returned in full force. Only age-long habits kept him from sprinting back to the house and shouting Marianne's name till she came out to either kill him or have him, right there and then, under the open sky. His entire body throbbed again, the dry hear coming back with a vengeance. Bog repressed a groan, trying to listen to Prudence past the roaring of his blood in his ears.

"It was a few months ago when I had the dream. They came, and in their wake, the town saw the biggest storm it ever had." The old woman said, her eyes searching the dusky heavens for the rainclouds that began to gather there rapidly. She either didn't notice Bog's sudden stiff posture or had chosen to ignore it. Until she slid her eyes to meet his, the steely glint in them made a shudder pass over him when he saw them as he remembered from his youth—sharp and clear and full of ancient insight. "And you, boy, were in the middle of it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeeeeah....... >.>
> 
> Anyone figured it out yet?
> 
> Let me know if you did!!


	9. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog is working on his car when he gets interrupted, and Roland continues to be a jackass.

The garage was reasonably large, considering its location in the town centre. High-ceilings and a concrete floor made for the bare bones of the expansive space, with a single car lift to one side and no less than three worktables—one for the motorcycles, one for the cars and another for Bog's personal projects—were lined against the wall, plus one smaller island for larger pieces. Orderly rows of tools, all clean and polished, hung on special pegboards along with bottles of oil, gauges and anything else that may be needed. A large TV, boosted by a surround sound system, was placed in the break area next to the office—opposite side of the room to the worktables. It was currently playing Fast and Furious 6, a troupe for a mechanic, but Bog threw in the topmost DVD that rested on the pile, only seeking to fill the silence with a loud noise, rather than pay attention to what was happening on the screen.

A few weeks before, Bog found a real treat. A showy purple 1962 Ford Thunderbird was discovered under a dusty old sheet a few counties over. Bog had personally gone to see the car's state, having gotten the tip about it from an old friend. Pleased enough with the exterior having only minimal wear and tear, the engine was almost a total bust. Just about everything that could have gone wrong was wrong. The battery was a goner, the radiator and coolants useless, and just about any fluid and oil that the car run on needed to be replaced and cleaned up before even attempting to start the engine. There almost certainly have been multiple generations of mice living at the blower unit's recesses, and a thorough clean-out and taking apart of every single piece was required.

Fortunately, the criminal condition the beautiful car was kept in got the price way down, and Bog took the steal. In hopeful forethinking, he drove the garage's tow truck with him and brought the new baby home to Faewood for the proper love and care she needed.

With his head under the Thunderbird's hood, movie blaring as loud as he could make it while being respectful to the neighbours, his body still trying to force him to go to Marianne by very uncomfortable means, it was understandable that he didn't hear the two people that walked in, hand in hand until they were practically on top of him.

Bent and reaching far in towards the throttle sensor, Bog felt a light tap on the small of his back, to which he reacted what even he would admit, extremely.

"ARGH!" He jumped, banging his head hard on the roof of the car. Then, crawling out from under the hood, the tension inside him snapped. "WHAT?!" Bog roared.

Sunny's face was a bloodless mask of terror. His freckles stood out stark over his blanched face, and he took a few quick steps back, pulling his companion with him. Next to him was a girl, a little taller than him with a sweet little face that made Bog want to tuck her in and keep her safe, despite the fact he was a second away from an all-out war with the world. She frowned and tilted her head, looking confused, curious but entirely unconcerned with his outburst. If he didn't know better, Bog thought there may have been a smile playing in the corners of her mouth.

"Hey! I'm Dawn," she said, deciding a smile was in fact appropriate.

Too shocked to answer, he simply stared at them.

"Uh, Mr. King, sir," Sunny stuttered, bravely trying to shield the girl from Bog, even though she ignored the attempts, her sparkly blue eyes fixated on Bog in an unerring way that reminded him of something. "We, uh, we came just to get my clothes out of the locker, and, um, we didn't mean to disturb you!"

Sighing, Bog leaned his arm on the open hood on the car, bending modestly to hide his current state and thankful the work apron he wore was thick enough to serve as a cover, he closed his eyes in exasperation. The boy had been working in his shop for the better part of seven years, and no matter how many times Bog told him to call him by his first name, he remained apprehensive. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bog waved the pair on to the office.

Sunny scuttled away, pushing Dawn in front of him. Looking back, she smiled again, which Bog glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, wondering what the hell was up with the girl.

Shaking his head, Bog walked back to the worktable to wipe and put down the pliers he had in hand, he crossed Sunny and Dawn's scent trails.

 _Ginger and cloves and lavender._ For a second, his vision turned white. 

"How do ye two know Marianne?"

Before he knew what he was doing, Bog stood at the small office's doorway, his hands holding on the frame as if he would fall if not grabbing something. The pair stood by the lockers behind Bog's desk, spinning to face him at the sudden question.

"Eh?" Sunny looked alarmed, but in sharp contrast, his little friend beamed.

"I knew it. I _knew_ it! You're the guy!" she squealed, making Bog flinch from the sound. "You're the one from the house!" Dawn did a little dance in place.

"What," said Bog. 

"Wha..?" Sunny echoed with a question, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt held in his hand. Only then Bog noticed the ill-fitting shorts and baggy linen shirt that he wore. In some corner of his mind that remained sane, Bog wondered how he got to that state, but concluded that there were more important things happening that required his focus.

"Sunnybear, that's _the guy._ " Dawn pointed a thumb in Bog's direction and widened her eyes. "With you-know-who?"

"Who… OH!" Gasping, the shorter man looked wildly from Dawn to Bog and back again. "With… With _her_?"

"Yeah! I was suspicious before, but it's obvious now!" Dawn grinned again, directing the full blast of her smile at Bog, who felt like staggering back from its force.

"If one of ye doesn't start makin' some sense, I'm goin' tae lose it." Fed up with the code talk, Bog glared at the Shifter and his friend, which, speaking of, seemed not entirely human. Actually… if Bog looked closer, he could see the tip of a pointy canine showing in her mouth.

Neither answered. One looked on with trepidation. The other beamed expectantly.

Like her name, the realization of who she was, who she reminded him of, dawned on him.

"Yer her sister."

***

She knew it was a risk to sneak into the kitchen to grab some food before leaving the house. She knew it, and she did it anyway. And now look where she was.

"Marianne!" Dagda smiled fondly, gesturing for her to get closer. "Come join us."

She had taken another shower, careful to avoid notice from any of their guests as they began to make their appearances with the coming of night. Squeaky clean and much more self-possessed than the way she'd been for the majority of that day, she first padded to Dawn's room, where her little sister was notably gone.

Marianne tried not to worry. The townsfolk knew of Supernaturals, or so Dawn said. But if Bog's reaction was any indication, they may not be as welcoming to Lamia; even Sunlight Lamia like herself and her family. Her naïve little sister could be in danger. She may unknowingly walk into a trap or be hurt. Marianne had to go and bring her home to be safe.

Grumbling at the prospect of having to go looking for her wayward little sister when she was supposed to be avoiding anything Bog-related, Roland-related and the world in general, Marianne dressed quickly in a dark purple puff-sleeve dress and white sneakers and went to get a snack before leaving. But now she was trapped and had to play the role of a proper Lamia daughter.

"Good even, Honorable Elders, Father." Marianne halted in her tracks, squaring her shoulders, and wiped the disgruntled look off her face. She met everyone's eye respectfully, greeting them—all except one.

"Edward." Lastly, she looked at her ex, narrowing her eyes imperceptibly.

Elder Isabelle tried to mask a snort with a cough. Rather unsuccessfully, if the smirks and pressed lips from the others were any indication. Roland's perfect cheeks flushed a pale pink, but he lifted his chin, plastering a sickeningly charming smile on his face.

Stepping forward, the pest lifted his arms, looking as though he meant to embrace Marianne. She twisted her mouth and took an explicit step back. Roland didn't stop, his green eyes turning into hard, cold emeralds as he persisted. He knew what he was doing. Rejecting him here, now, after her outburst yesterday could cause her serious trouble.

While not officially a council member, Roland has been assigned as a guard and Keeper for Isabelle, his aunt. The other two Elders were Midnight Lamia and had their own escorts since they were almost helpless during the daytime.

To preserve peace in their new community, the Blood-drinkers were requested to either bring their own meal, i.e. donated blood bags, or leave through the mirror-portal in the basement to find their nourishment. Under no circumstances they were allowed to roam Faewood.

Roland, being Twilight Lamia and a Keeper to Isabelle, had the permission to leave, though only within a certain radius of the house and never in the daytime or twilight hours where he would have been able to tolerate the sun.

In any case, from behind Roland, the sound of the blood warming machine dinged, saving Marianne from further irritation.

"Right, then." Elder Cyril brought out the pre-prepared cut crystal wine glasses and began serving out the blood out of the glass dispenser.

Hungry, and having had almost no sun that day, Marianne's stomach flipped uncomfortably at the sight of the bright red liquid.

Roland stopped his advance, going to get himself a glass to sate his thirst. Using the moment of distraction, Marianne snatched a packet of cookies from the pantry and blurred, first reaching her father to bestow a kiss on his bearded cheek, then giving an inclination of her head to the guests. They had another night of socializing and mingling. After two decades, there was some catching up to do among the oldest vampires around.

"Father, I was thinking. There is that charming antique shop in town, the one owned by a fae woman." Marianne leaned her head on Dagda's shoulder, her mouth close to his ear. "Would anyone like it if I went and got a few of the… more interesting items as gifts?"

Humming, he considered it. Marianne saw Roland lift the glass to his mouth, clearly eavesdropping. "That sounds like a good idea, dear," he answered.

"Great!" Marianne clutched the cookie roll a tiny bit too hard and heard a few crack. She grimaced but kept her hold. "I should go and do that right now." 

"Very well. Before you leave, can you tell your sister to join us when she's done with her work for the day?"

"Of course," she said, nodding her head just a little bit too enthusiastically.

_Now to find Dawn to tell her that…_

_***_

Bog's office sported a small two-seater leather couch, which had been comfortably decorated with two pillows and a throw. It unfolded into a long thin mattress, and currently, Bog laid on the opened sofa bed, staring out the square window, into a hazy, late evening, sky.

Marianne's little sister and his Shifter employee left not long ago, and after a night of little sleep, Bog felt weary enough to attempt rest.

The thoughts of danger to the town faded even more after meeting the sunspot that was the youngest Lamia. It was hard to imagine her hurting anything at all, especially after he heard the story of Sunny's rescue. While he wasn't at all pleased at her trespass into the forest and had scolded her firmly for it, he also thanked Dawn for saving Sunny. He was fond of the young Shifter and would have been upset if anything happened to the boy.

Saying that, Bog had to confess, didn't stop him from experiencing a momentary haze of red when the Lamia giggled, telling him of Marianne walking into the bathroom naked to find Sunny the bear in their bathtub. The Shifter flinched in place, catching the black death glare from Bog. That is until he saw Dawn observing him, her mouth quirking in a deliberately mischievous way.

The wicked wee thing told Bog a rather unnecessary part of the story on purpose to test his reaction.

Perhaps, while the threat to his town was not what he primarily imagined, it was possible danger still very much lurked within the skin of a pretty little blonde princess and her diabolical ways.

Grunting as he rolled to his back, Bog stretched, popping his vertebrae in a series of pleasant clicks.

A small sound from the garage's door made him twist on the sofa bed into a ready crouch. He looked from the glass pane set in the internal wall and caught sight of the handle turning gently.

He grumbled and got up wearing only his boxers and a shirt to see who was foolishly striving to get in his garage.

"Dawn…?" Her voice was carried through the closed wooden door, muffled but unmistakable.

 _Marianne_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3 who knows what happens next? :3
> 
> I did some research about the Thunderbird and it's such a pretty vehicle. I thought it fits Bog very well 😎😎


	10. We Meet Again Under The Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WELP. Here we go again.

Dawn…?"

In her chest, Marianne's heart pounded too fast.

Too fast, too hard, too heavy. Dawn's trail led her here, to where the smells of oil, petrol, hot metal, men's sweat, and other pleasant and unpleasant scents were overridden entirely by the one that made her skin ripple on short bursts of desire from her crown to her toes.

This place belonged to Bog. He must work as a mechanic, and despite herself, heat uncurled in the pit her stomach, thinking of him bending under the hood of a car, his big hands working the tools with proficiency. Maybe he bit his lip when screwing and unscrewing bolts and screws. Maybe he worked without a shirt on.

Marianne wanted to groan and pull on her hair. Just when she thought she had gotten her fantasies about Bog out of her system, another popped up to drive her up the walls. It was just not normal! What was it about this guy that made her feel so hot?! He was just a man. A  _ human _ man. It shouldn't have been possible—a human having such an effect on her.

Soft, barefoot steps alerted her to another person behind the closed door. It did not sound like Dawn's bouncy stride, and they were too heavy to be the Shifter's treads. Considering where she was, what her nose told her, it was rather obvious who was on the other side of the door.

_ Bog _ .

Leaving the house earlier had a confusing effect, that frustrated as well as encouraged her. The gate was smeared with blood—Bog's blood.

A quick blur around the grounds and she could tell he had been there. He walked in circles, for who knew how long, around the house. The bastard had been right downstairs, while she had been obsessively thinking about him, and he hadn't approached her. Why?! Why did he vanish that morning only to return without saying a word? Why did he leave his marker there? Was he trying to drive her utterly feral?

Or… was it merely a coincidence?

No, it couldn't have been. Bog knew where she lived. Was it possible he wanted to reach out and was reluctant due to the vampires in the house? It gave her a tiny spark of hope at the thought that maybe not all is lost with him, even as she tried to squash its flicker. Marianne didn't need a man. She didn't  _ want _ a man.

Questions, questions, and all she got was a wave of want at his scent. Cedarwood and mint and  _ male. _ That wholesome masculine essence that somehow, not all men possessed. Certainly not Roland. That fool… what did she ever even see in him?

Her keen ears picked up the sound of rapid breathing. A rustle of fabric, like a hiss, came from behind the door.

A few seconds that seemed like hours passed and all Marianne could tell was that he stood right behind the door. Perhaps with his hand on the handle. Did he not want her to be there?

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Since Dawn hadn't responded to Marianne's call, she was likely no longer there. And, as Marianne was here… and Bog was here… she may as well try one more time—let him know she knew he was there and maybe get some damn answers as to why he was such a jerk.

"Bo—" before the word was fully out, the door swung open internally, and the man Marianne had been obsessing over suddenly loomed over her, standing so close she would have cringed from his sudden nearness, had it been anyone else.

He was feverish, again, and vaguely Marianne wondered if he was ill or needed medical attention. It hadn't quite occurred to her before of how abnormal his temperature was. Despite the vitality practically pouring out of him, she didn't know if it was typical in human men. Granted, she never had one as a lover before, but this seemed unusual and excessive.

He was like a heat lamp, in more ways than one. Orbs of sapphire flame stared down to meet hers, but he didn't touch her. Bog opened and closed his hands slowly, and his mouth thinned into a white line. Marianne saw his nostrils flare as he breathed her in.

***

"What are ye doing here?"

Bog hadn't meant the question to come out like a growl. As a matter of fact, he hadn't meant to do anything in specific at all. His body acted entirely on its own accord, with no filter or consent from his brain.

Had his brain been in charge, perhaps the terse conversation would have gone in a different direction.

Marianne's honey gold eyes hardened into solid chips of amber as she frowned.

"I came for my sister. She's blonde and has blue eyes. Is she here?"

Despite her question, she hadn't even looked inside the garage, keeping her demanding gaze on Bog. She must have already figured out the sunspot had left, but the challenge had been made, and Bog has to answer it.

"No."

Bog's eyes flashed to the muscles over her jaw, where she clenched them. He knew he stood far too close. So close their fronts almost touched, making Marianne tilt her head far back to face him. If he leaned, just that little bit more, her breasts would touch his sternum.

"Where is she?" said Marianne from between her teeth.

"Said she went home."

"Did she."

"Aye."

She was silent for a while, the gold in her eyes beginning to melt again, shifting within the depths.

"And you?" she asked suddenly, her mouth shaping the words in a small, pursed O that distracted him from their meaning.

"Me?" Bog frowned, not understanding to what Marianne referred.

"Where were you?" Her tone demanded no excuses, and his mind, already at low capacity, stumped at telling her his reasons.

"Ah…Ah can't—Ah don't…" he stammered.

Knowing she wouldn't understand even had he been able to explain, Bog only lifted his hand, using just one knuckle to stroke featherlight across her cheek. Silky skin flushed in the wake of his touch, and her lids gave an odd flutter. Marianne's dark lips fell open minutely, releasing her breath in a rush of white smoke in the cold air. 

In response, Bog drew it in with another lungful, a low rumble rising in his chest at the spicy scent that was simply Marianne, diluted with the strength of her arousal.

"Bog…" His name on her tongue was the key to all his locks. Spoken in that gentle way, her voice caressing, it made Bog's body turn into molten lava.

"Marianne."

She gasped softly, her hypnotic eyes widening, and he realised he hadn't called her by her name until then.

"Come in?" he offered, surprised at his calm when inside, he was anything but.

"Yeah." She stepped around Bog, her figure an hourglass-shaped shadow in the darkened room. Following her and closing the door, Bog only had to turn around before she was on him. As seemed to be her way, Marianne pulled his neck down, taking possession over his mouth like she needed his air to breathe. Feeling like a starved man at a feast, Bog bent and grasped her legs, lifting her till they wrapped around him, her dark purple dress bunched around her hips. If he thought he was hard before, it was nothing compared to what the sensation of wet warmth through the thin fabric over his groin created, making his blood rush downwards like a waterfall. 

The nearest surface was the island worktable, only a few feet away. He took two long strides and settled Marianne on the sturdy oak table, Bog ran his hands over everything he could, feeling her tangible and real and everything he had desired and longed for.

Even more potent than the lust was the sense of wholeness her presence brought him, the feeling of being complete, and he responded to the small, needy sound she made in her throat. Marianne rolled her hips again, chasing with what was almost a desperate whimper, and he snaked his hand between them. The soaked-through material of her underwear inflamed him even more, and he felt around, searching, unconsciously reacting to her call. Marianne's breath caught when he found the sensitive spot and Bog rubbed it carefully. After only a few small, hard circles, her tongue in his mouth stopped suddenly, and her arms tightened.

A long, breathy moan escaped her lips, and she clenched her legs around him almost painfully as she shook with her orgasm.

Finding words he didn't know he had Bog manage to speak into her hair. "Yer so… Ah missed ye. So much." And he knew them to be true. He  _ had  _ missed her. Everything about her; simply holding her was a relief that was addicting. "Marianne…"

"Now… Bog, I want you now!" Marianne's voice was full of yearning. She went for his erection, pushing the elastic band roughly out of the way, taking the pressure off the area. It may have ripped, but he wouldn't have cared even if she set them on fire.

"Let me… Arggggh, oh, God, Marianne!"

Her hand encircled him snugly like she wasn't going to risk him getting away— _ As if anything could pry me off right now— _ while the other moved her underpants to the side. Without further ado, she scooted forward and guided his throbbing cock home into her tight, wet centre.

Reflexes and other, baser instincts took over when he felt just how ready she was. She asked for him, she _ needed  _ him _ ,  _ and now she was going to get him.

Hands anchoring her hips, he pulled her further out, almost off the table, and began to thrust hard and fast, just the way he could tell she wanted. Each time he buried himself within her was met with the sound of their joining and the scraping of the table legs on the floor.

"Gonna... kill… me…" he gritted out, overwhelmed with the sudden stimulation. For all the times his body betrayed him that day, he hadn't touched himself, sought no relief. Being inside Marianne felt like his torment had ended—so pleasureful it almost hurt. Her inner muscles pressed around him, and Bog groaned, the hands on her hips squeezing hard.

Marianne leaned back, and her elbows reached behind her for support. She knocked off a whole mess of tools and other things, making a racket of crashing metal on concrete to join all the other noise they were making, but he couldn't have cared less. Under her dress, Her full breasts bounced, begging for attention. Bog pulled the neckline down and out of the way, discovering her wore no bra. Bending forward to take one firm, pert nipple in his mouth, he never once slowed his pace.

"Yes, YES, ohmyga—I wanted you so bad, you big idiot! Aaaaah, why, Oh,  _ fuck _ … did… you… FUCK…  _ goooo _ !!" Marianne's breath came in short gasps. She threw her head back, arching into his mouth, and Bog licked his way from her nipple to the other, laving the sweet skin, intent on bringing her to the brink again and again. He had dreamed about it, played how he would go about it, for the whole, tortuous day he had.

Her accusation swirled in his fever-addled mind like tendrils of smoke. He saw the words, but couldn't grasp them. Distantly, he wondered what she meant.

The heat between them rose to an unbearable level. Big reared up, and shifted his hands lower, to squeeze her gorgeous backside. He had been feeling Marianne spasm and tremble, coupled with the rise and fall of her voice, that told him she possibly had more than one orgasm. She seemed just as unable to speak as he, her brow scrunched up and her mouth hung slack, fangs fully extended in a silent scream of pleasure. Seeing that expression of pure physical rapture on her face was almost enough to undo him there and then. But each time he held on until she let out a deep moan, and he simply couldn't anymore. Feeling the familiar tightening of his balls and the way his head went dizzy, and Bog knew the end was approaching fast.

"One more, Love," he leaned over her, whispering raggedly in her ear, one hand snaking between them to press down on her bud again. "Jus' gi' me one more. Right now."

" _ Boooooog _ !" she surrendered with a high scream. With a final plunge of his member and a loud heave of the table, Marianne's entire body rose from the surface. She blurred almost entirely out of sight, and Bog, unaware he decided never to let her go again, clung on to her as he fell apart at the seams. His body bent forward until their chests touched, and with a cry that formed her name, he peaked and released everything he had within her.

.

.

Bog laid on top of Marianne, covering her possessively with his body, trying to regain his breath. Out of the sudden calm, her hoarse voice broke with a deeply felt threat amid her shallow pants.

"If you… leave again… I will… hunt you down… like a dog."

Still inside her, their bodies melded together with sweat and other bodily fluids, Bog laughed breathlessly.

"Ah dinnae think… anythin'… can keep… me awa', Love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😏
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter as much as those two did.


	11. How To Go On A Date In Faewood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn and Sunny, aka Alfie, think about the evening they've had.
> 
> Also, Roland is a creep. Just sayin'.

Misty drizzle fell from the sky in soft patters, and despite it being the middle of Autumn, somehow the rain was warm. The streets were slick and the asphalt darker than dark, roads gleaming with tiny, shallow puddles. Trees swayed in the soft wind, shedding leaves under the strain of the rushing air. Combined, the rain and wind made such sweet music of the Fall night, that the Lamia closed her eyes to listen intently.

Relishing the fresh breeze, blurring along the edges of the sleeping town, Dawn giggled to herself, recalling the evening she'd had with Sunnybear showing her around the dusk-darkened streets of Faewood.

They had gone to the garage to get his clothes, then found an empty playground and sat on the swingset, talking about their lives, occupations, experiences and anything in between. Sunnybear told her about his younger sisters and his plans to save up enough to get a Mechanical and Automotive Engineering degree. He had a few options to borrow the necessary funds but ultimately refused, claiming he preferred to save up on his own and not owe anything. Dawn admired his choice, and complimented on the sensible thought—after all, he had centuries in which to be an engineer, and there was no rush. The sweet Shifter flushed a dark pink over his brown cheeks, flattered with her praise.

In turn, Dawn shared her life in the Lamia community while keeping its location and placement vague and undetailed. She told Sunnybear of her previous work and existing education and what else she wanted to learn. There were so many new things to experience, Dawn gushed, leaning back in her swing seat, looking up to the patchy heavens. He asked about life in the early century, and she obliged, telling her younger companion of a time long gone before technology played such an essential role in society.

It was a truly magical evening, and Dawn felt lighter at heart than she ever felt before. On the way back to Sunnybear's house, they raced each other, and Dawn was surprised to find him more than able to keep up with her swiftness. At times, he even took the lead, his smile broad and thrilling and ecstatic. His speed was yet another thing she hadn't known about Shifters.

_I'll have to make a list, and share it with Marianne!_

The time for goodbye came, and Dawn gave Sunnybear a kiss on the cheek as farewell, giggling when he swayed on his feet. She breathed in his wonderful scent—a pleasant sort of musk, with a hint of citrus—and blurred away, heading home.

Before the impromptu date, Dawn found Bog King—Sunnybear's employer and one of the most bad-tempered people she'd ever met—to be a fascinating subject of subtle inquisition. He was clearly the one Marianne spent the night with, making Dawn reflect on the encounter with her sister in the bathroom with renewed interest. Something about him made Marianne go back on every growling promise she'd made against love, and Dawn didn't take the change of heart lightly.

Marianne has been lonely for far too long—whether in a relationship or not. Familiar with her sister, Dawn knew she was stubborn enough to not go for it, just because Bog was human. But Marianne needed a man like him, Dawn was sure of it. A man that worked with his hands, was direct without deception and would challenge and inspire Marianne, hopefully, to bring her out of her shell.

Dawn took a flying leap, crossing a small creek in a flash, spinning as she did. She sighed happily, grateful to every star in the sky that they had come to Faewood. Marianne found herself an appropriate match to keep up with her, and Dawn met Sunnybear.

The Shifter was better than she could have ever hoped for! Sweet and considerate and kind, the poor thing was too shy to tell Dawn he would heal quickly from his injuries with a bit of food and rest.

Their family had been separated from the other supernatural community for the vast majority of their long lives, keeping within the Lamia neighbourhoods and cities, that there were many things Dawn didn't know about. Clearly, she had a lot to learn. As a voracious student, Dawn looked forward to the lessons as she mingled with the townsfolk more, particularly after the fabulous Halloween party she will host. 

Perhaps the reason why Dawn never found someone for herself before was their isolation. What she needed, what she waited for, was out there in the big wide world!

Detouring in a wide circle around the mansion house, running at a low crouch to avoid detection, Dawn prepared to climb up the ivy patch trellis to her room. Earlier, she had carried Sunnybear in and out of the house in the same way—to avoid notice from the other Lamia and prevent any traces of Sunnybear's scent from lingering.

Another giggle escaped her smiling lips, recalling the young man's confused face when she asked him to shift, and his quiet bear grunt when she offered him her arms to hold.

"It's only till we're far enough away, Sunnybear. Hopefully, my scent would mask yours, but just in case I'm going to have to jump out far enough away."

In response, Sunnybear licked her cheek with his long, rough tongue, and Dawn grasped to his muzzle with one hand, the other wiping her face on her sleeve as she laughed.

"Enough of that, now!" she said, meaning to sound stern but ended up with what was more a choked scoff since she had tried to swallow her laughter. "We should be off, to take you home, right?"

Sitting on his haunches, Sunny gestured his soft belly with one big paw, then gave a low barking sound.

"After we get you some clothes, yeah. Of course." Despite herself, Dawn blushed.

As a Shifter, Sunnybear had a high tolerance for nudity. Him and his family, the ones who were also Shifters, would have to strip at each change or end up with either tattered and ripped clothes, or simply be uncomfortable with ill-fitting clothing. As a result, Sunny didn't particularly mind being naked around Dawn, though he still turned his back to remove the oversized shirt and shorts she had given him from her father's closet. 

Sunnybear was wonderful for Dawn, Bog was perfect for Marianne, and who knew, maybe it was time for their father to finally find someone special again. Dawn determined to herself to search around the town for any possible matches. Perhaps even Pruna, the antique shop owner.

Her room was as much as she left it—orderly chaos made of acrylic paint, crepe paper, cardboard, and a tall pile of different fabrics over the large table in the corner that also held her sewing machine. Marianne's costume had been finished the day before, sewn as Dawn fretted for her sister. Dawn's own costume was nearly finished, and she swung her leg over the windowsill, taking special care to be soundless.

Except… Dawn's door was open when she slid into the room, and just outside was Roland.

He stood, a strange and troubling expression on his face as he gazed in from the hallway. The twilight Lamia blinked and frowned at Dawn, confusion fading as suspicion made his green eyes widen.

Without a word, Dawn walked to the door, staring him down, and closed it while Roland silently watched the entire time.

_Wow. What a creep. Makes more and more sense why Marianne dumped him._

Dawn took a deep breath, trying to assess whether Roland had actually entered her room, but thankfully, she smelled nothing other than her and Sunnybear's scent. It appeared that Roland wasn't quite daring enough to cross the threshold of the bedroom for now.

She debated whether to check on Marianne, perhaps apologise or talk to her about Bog, but decided against it. It would be better to speak in the morning and outside of the house where no eavesdropping ears would be flapping around the halls. Dawn didn't trust Roland at all, and his appearance outside her room couldn't be coincidental. He was spying on the sisters, maybe even trying to gain leverage of some kind.

Dawn shrugged, choosing to work on her costume and complete it while she complied an apology and a few questions to her older sister when they would talk the next day, and the first would be about Bog.

***

Alfie, still fully clothed, jumped into his bed, sliding under the sheets and laid there. There were better things he could have done with his time, after spending over an hour with his parents, telling them a watered-down version of what happened to him the night before. Yet, all he wanted was to cover his burning red face under the blanket and smother a scream with his pillow.

_Oh, my GOSH, she's so beautiful and kind and amazing and aahhhh!!!_

In tight circles, his mind ran, like a dog chasing his tail. Somehow he managed to keep a general calm around Dawn—despite the persistent blushing—but now he was on his own, all he could think about was what a complete idiot he behaved around her.

She'd saved him, like a real-life angel, and took Alfie into her home and bedroom to further care for him. Dawn had treated him, bear or man, with such patience, he thought he just may shrivel up and die at the moment his unintended deception was revealed.

But, _no,_ she wasn't even _mad._

Oh, the sweet Lamia was far older than he—but she was also as fun-loving and young as himself at heart. Frankly, he thought they were like two sides of the same coin.

Was it possible that this woman, this fantastical person, was his true counterpart? He knew some of his kind found their perfect mates, but he hadn't heard of it happening between a Shifter and a Lamia before. The two races were not so dissimilar in many ways—strength and speed, longevity, fast healing were all things they shared. But was it possible?

_It has to be. It just does!_

Right now, Dawn's house was full of guests. She hadn't elaborated much on that topic, and Alfie hadn't pried. Instead, Dawn gave him an account of one particular visitor of the household, and a rundown of his relationship with her sister.

Blinking in the darkness under his blanket, Alfie shuddered as he remembered the black look in Mr. King's eye, directed at him like a poisoned arrow when hearing he had seen Dawn's sister naked. By all Alfie heard of Marianne, the pretty brunette he had met briefly in the bathroom, she would be a good counter for Bog—er, Mr. King.

Resilient, unconventional, determined—all things her sister described her as. And the way the older Lamia sister had smelled like when she got into the bathroom was a huge tell, in Alfie's books.

Clearly, she and Bog made their acquaintance already. That was not unheard of—the instant attraction between Supernaturals leading into more primal actions, ancient instincts taking over the couple. The stronger the match, the more forceful the pressure to be together would become, even for two very stubborn people. In that case, it could be an uncomfortable situation—especially if they tried to resist—but a generally accepted one.

With an odd mixture of goodwill and wryness, Alfie thought perhaps Bog would be less intense, having found his counter, but the older man seemed _worse_ somehow. If the erratic weather wasn't evidence enough, his tight-wound body-language would have given it away.

It was possible that if Dawn hadn't been there to lay a hand protectively over Alfie's shoulder, there wouldn't have been much he could have done against the Guardian.

For seven years Alfie worked in the the The Torque Goblin, and Mr. King was a harsh but fair boss. Alfie's terror of the man came not from his dour and grumpy attitude that occasionally bordered on hostile, but from his position in town. As a member of The Sage, he could easily have Alfie exiled. 

Even though the Shifter had given Bog no reason to even consider it, Alfie had known of a few that were cast out for intolerable and inexcusable behaviour. They didn't usually survive long on their own—so used to the comfortable life in a town that accepted their true nature and protected their identities.

Who could tell what it be like if what Alfie's theories were correct and Bog paired with a Lamia? Knowing what he knew about his boss, it seemed like the worst that could happen would likely be by Bog's own doing.

Putting it out of his mind, and focusing of his plans with his stunning new friend for the next day, Alfie screamed breathlessly into the pillow one more time, recalling Dawn's claiming to her sister— _She_ claimed _him!—_ then brought his head up with a gasp.

There was so much he had to do!

***

By the time Dawn came down, Dagda and the other Elders and Keepers were well into their cups.

They sat in over-stuffed wooden armchairs and an antique two-seater couch in the study. The past century had passed without enough strife that required the four elders to convene in any way other than socially keeping in touch. They still went over the recent events (recent meaning in the past twenty or thirty years), and the foreseeable future plans. The other three lived across the States in their own communities to the North, South and West, Dagda being the only one who had moved away from the Lamia Cities. Even though a month was only a blink of an eye in the long lifespan of a Supernatural, it had been a refreshing experience to adapt to the new lifestyle.

His youngest daughter knocked on the open door of the study to announce her presence. She bestowed warm smiles to the greetings that followed her entrance and Dagda rose, a little unsteady on his feet, to embrace her.

"I haven't seen you all day, dear," he said once he let go.

"I've been a little busy…" Dawn replied, seeming distracted. Her hand was at her throat, worrying a gold chain between her fingers.

Dagda frowned, wondering at the bemused, internal smile that pulled on Dawn's lips. Her hair waved just a tiny bit in sporadic gusts of emotion that coincided with the stroking of the necklace.

"Has something happened?" Dagda laid a hand over his daughter's shoulder, and she started, so lost in her thoughts. "Has Marianne left for the town already?"

Dawn frowned, opened her mouth and shut it again, her sky-blue eyes going to the door, where Roland had appeared in.

As soon as the Twilight Lamia appeared, Dawn stiffened. She reached a hand to grasp Dagda's arm and squeezed. It wasn't enough to be uncomfortable, but it did alarm him. How odd. Dawn never seemed to have a particular disliking to Roland, and the change was disconcerting.

"Daddy, may I be excused?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes never leaning the blond man. "I have some things to finish."

"Ah, yes, of course, darling," Dagda said, confused.

Dawn nodded and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Before she withdrew, she whispered in his ear a warning that was even more unsettling than her behaviour. "Be careful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a little messy cause I rewrote a big chuck of the chapter--sorry about that!
> 
> Hope you liked it!


End file.
